


Within Reach

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beta Derek, Bottom Derek, First Time, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just happens to be in the right place at the right time one night when Derek is attacked by a very strange and violent character.  After that, Stiles takes his relationship with Derek to the next level.  But Derek continues to be threatened by an evil group that wants him for very nefarious purposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just started watching Teen Wolf, very recently, and I'm still only a few episodes into Season 4. So I have no idea what happens in future episodes of the series but had this overwhelming urge to write with this pairing anyway.

From a very young age, Stiles had wanted things that he had no business possessing. He’d started out small, asking Santa Claus for a sleek new laptop with a direct link to NASA, because he wanted to sound more reasonable than the other kids who had demanded idiotic things like unicorns, super heroes, and crystal palaces in the sky. From his infatuation with NASA, he had moved onto the usual things that teenage boys coveted, including fully loaded all-terrain vehicles, a sexy smart girlfriend with strawberry blond hair – mainly Lydia – and the ability to get through a lacrosse game without completely embarrassing himself. But, sometime after integrating werewolves, banshees, and assassins into his life, he’d realized that he now wanted something that really tipped the scales of fate in the direction of _impossible_.

 

Aside from solving murder mysteries, being possessed by Nokitsune, and having a piss poor attendance record at school, there was nothing truly remarkable about Stiles. He’d been working out in secret a lot lately, putting on a significant amount of muscles that he kept hidden beneath his loose plaid shirts and discount shop jackets. But he wasn’t exactly ripped or eligible material for a modeling agency. Over the past year or two, he’d also been growing in his hair, which gave him a more roughened look. While it did serve to age him in appearance, getting him past the ID checks at the liquor store, it failed to give him that suave, drop dead look that he’d been aiming for. And screw the online mechanics course that he’d been plugging into during his free time. Not only was his jeep beyond his skills in repairs, but nobody really gave a shit if you could jumpstart a car nowadays. Why? Because every other Netizen and his dog could do it – blindfolded.

 

So what did Stiles have to offer? To a regular human – nothing. To a werewolf – minus nothing.

 

That’s why Stiles was loitering inside a poorly stocked convenience store on the edge of town in the middle of the night. Because his ever spastic mind refused to shut down, churning out images of Derek Hale at random spurts, disturbing his sleep and corrupting his sanity. Which was fine really, except for the part about having nothing that Derek could possibly want.

 

Oh, how Stiles got off on fantasizing about Derek. Derek in a tight fitting black t-shirt. Derek gazing at him with those super sexy emotive green eyes. For anyone else they might just be referred to as green, but to Stiles they were a particular shade of green – light and luminescent, like the warmth of the sea. If the sea ever reached temperatures high enough to be considered warm. And then there was a wet and clingy Derek, as he had been when temporarily paralyzed by the Kanima. Just thinking of the way he’d held onto Derek to prevent him from drowning in that faraway memory of adolescent longing was enough to give him the shivers. Or make him crush the chocolate bar that he’d been fondling in his hand.

 

“You’re gonna have to pay for that now,” the sales clerk called out from behind the cash register, keeping an eye on Stiles through the concave security mirror situated in the top left hand corner of the store.

 

“Fine. I was done masturbating with it anyhow,” Stiles muttered under his breath. It was pathetic, really, how low he had sunk in the past few weeks. Drifting apart from Malia because, hey, it was time to grow up and move on! Ignoring the envious feeling in the pit of his stomach when he caught Scott making out with Kira. As much as he loved Scott as a brother, he sometimes hated him just a little for being so much more popular, and successful. Scott always got whatever or whoever he wanted while Stiles was forced to settle for second best or whatever was left standing at the end of a supernatural rampage. And now, here he was, trying to deny his lust for Derek’s hot body, channeling his eroticism into food porn instead.

If it had only been lust, Stiles might have been able to kick his sorry ass out of neutral and into first gear – getting the hell out of Derek’s way and moving onto more attainable pastures. Who the hell was he trying to kid? His burning need for Derek could probably put Scott and his drawer full of condoms to shame.

 

Willing himself to move over to the cash register, and therefore avoid having to pay for anymore corrupted merchandise, Stiles jammed his hand into his pocket and… came up with exactly sixty cents.

 

“Aww crap,” Stiles breathed, hoping that the army sergeant of a sales clerk hadn’t noticed his predicament. Maybe he could stall him until another customer came into the shop – hopefully someone from Beacon Hills High School – so that he could bum a dollar off of them. There were some days when he felt like such a loser and this was definitely one of them.

 

“Can you hurry up and pay for that? I’d like to close up early tonight, you know with all the murders going around.”

 

Murders don’t _go around_ , Stiles wanted to correct the man. Once you got murdered, there was nowhere for you to go. The murderer, on the other hand, was free to roam about at will until caught by the local authorities or exorcised of any relevant demons. “Yeah, hold on. I’m trying to find something to leave as collateral.”

 

“Don’t be a smartass. You either pay for that or I call the cops.”

 

That was just what he didn’t need. His father, Sheriff Stilinski, had enough on his plate at the moment and didn’t need to be called down to the convenience store over a chocolate bar for fuck’s sake!

 

“How much are you short by?”

 

 _Shit! No!_ That voice! That melodic, warm, rumbling purr that set Stiles’ heart on fire and did nastier things to his young, energetic libido. Forcing himself to act as normally as humanly possible, which came across as demented and awkward, Stiles turned around to come face to face with Derek Hale. Derek looked like he had just gotten off work, or something to that effect, because he looked absolutely wrecked. The tired eyes and slight frown did nothing to detract from Derek’s natural attractiveness, although it did dispel quite a lot of werewolf rumors about heightened stamina. Stiles wondered what Derek had been up to because he doubted the wolf had a job, or would be capable of holding one down if it came to that.

 

“Do you have a dollar?” Stiles asked in as straightforward a tone as possible. No lecherous invitations to the nearest motel room or all-hours movie theater – because that’s where teenagers went to make out – slipped past his lips. Anyway, if he was after a quick coupling to alleviate his sexual frustration, any one of his equally horny classmates would have sufficed. That wasn’t what he wanted from Derek, as if he could get anything from the wolf at all.

 

Derek gave him a cocky smile that basically screamed, _what kind of loser doesn’t have a dollar?_ , before pulling out his wallet. He fished out a crumpled bill and flung it onto the counter, where the sales clerk snatched it up and finished ringing up the chocolate bar.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said appreciatively as he shoved the chocolate bar into the pocket of his worn out jeans.

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

And that was it.

 

Derek practically floated away with his aura of coolness, scanning the aisles for whatever he had come in for. As much as Stiles wanted to sidle on up to the dark haired man and strike up a banal conversation, the tiny voice in his head that operated on common sense advised against it. He had nothing in common with Derek. No mutual friends, no similar hobbies or interests, and no reason to get close. Or at least not as close as Stiles wanted to get. And when it came to conversationalists, Derek was the absolute worst. He made mutes look talkative, he was _that_ antisocial. But there was something about him, something vulnerable that appealed to Stiles. For as powerful a werewolf as Derek was, he seemed to be terribly lost and broken inside. Like a toy that had been abusively played with and tossed to the side, having lost its shiny appeal.

 

Trying to get Derek out of his head, Stiles exited the convenience store and started up his beat-up jeep. He continued to look in the window for a few minutes, trying to determine what Derek was buying, but eventually gave up and backed out of the parking lot. He drove slowly, not in any hurry to return home or to his empty bed. When he checked his rearview mirror, he was a bit excited to see that Derek’s black Camaro was trailing behind him. Okay, so maybe he had driven 15 kilometers under the speed limit on purpose, hoping that Derek would catch up to him. And then what? Stiles never planned that far ahead.

 

They continued a few hundred meters with the Camaro catching up to Stiles’ low powered jeep, when the unthinkable happened. Another car racing in the opposite direction crossed over the dividing line and ploughed straight into Derek in a head-on collision. It was like something straight out of an action movie. Both cars were stopped for an instant by the impact and then flung backwards by the force of the crash.

 

Stiles slammed on the brakes and spun his jeep around, his hands trembling on the steering wheel. Derek would be alright. Derek always healed. Werewolves couldn’t be killed that easily. But, like every other time he had witnessed Derek attacked and injured, Stiles had to swallow down the urge to panic outright. As he neared the two mangled vehicles, he could see Derek struggling to escape his car, but the driver’s side door was so warped that he was having trouble squeezing out. The driver of the other car had a lot better luck getting out, and didn’t seem to be at all phased by the incident. He was a man of about forty or so, average height, and average build, but the thick chain that he wrapped around his knuckles was anything but normal.

 

Stiles pulled up alongside them, threw the jeep into park and stumbled out just in time to see that man stride over to the driver’s side of the Camaro, grab hold of Derek’s collar, yank him out of his car, and lash him across the back with the heavy chain. The scream caught Stiles off guard, so did the horror of watching Derek collapse to the ground – unchanged. Why the hell wasn’t he changing? If Derek didn’t transform into a wolf, then none of his injuries would heal. The man raised his arm again and, before Stiles could blink, brought it down hard across Derek’s right shoulder. This time, Derek’s cry of pain was choked off, as if he was shocked by it.

 

There was something wrong with Derek, something preventing him from transforming. If he took one or two more hits like that, especially to the head, he wouldn’t survive in human form.

 

Being driven by a force greater than himself, Stiles reached under the driver’s seat of the jeep, pulling out his trusty aluminum baseball bat. Without fearing for his own safety, he rushed Derek’s attacker, cracking the bat over the back of the man’s skull. That should have been enough to take him out, but apparently it was just Stiles’ luck that he had chosen to take on a paranormal bounty hunter. Winding up for round two when the man shook off the first blow, Stiles looked worriedly in Derek’s direction. Derek was sprawled on the ground, tearing at the ground in pain and frustration, desperately trying to transform. Stiles could see the green of Derek’s eyes shifting to a glowing gold and then back to the usual green. Derek could not transform. So it was up to him then. If he didn’t take the man with the chain kink out of commission, both he and Derek were dead.

 

“Stiles, run!” Derek shouted, finally beginning to shift. His diamond-sharp claws tore at the ground as he pushed himself up, his canines dropped down into fangs, and his usual sexy facial hair became a lot more animal-like.

 

Run? Fuck that! Like Stiles was going to turn tail and retreat like some terrified sissy, leaving his helpless wolf mid-shift on the asphalt, like someone’s abandoned road kill.

 

“You run!” He hollered back, smashing the bat into the man’s jaw when he lurched forward, grabbing for Derek’s ankle. And then, chain man tilted his head to the side, looking up, narrowing his psychotic murderous eyes on Stiles. “Are you going to finish shifting now?” Stiles asked in poorly concealed terror, swinging for a homerun when his bat was caught with ease and torn from his grasp.

 

Derek snarled and launched himself at Chain-man, his fangs going in for the kill – or the throat, whichever ended with psycho man dead was fine with Stiles. But, there was still something not quite right about Derek. Stiles was aware of what Kate had done to Derek, what she had taken from him, so he shouldn’t have been surprised by the golden glow to his eyes. Blue was a better look on him, of that Stiles was certain, but gold wasn’t half bad either. It was the pale cast of gold that had him nervous, along with the lack of power in Derek’s attack. Had Kate done more than steal the color of Derek’s eyes?

 

The man held the chain between both hands, protecting his throat and catching Derek’s snapping fangs with it. He effortlessly forced the chain further into Derek’s mouth, silencing the wolf-like growls, and shoved him backwards. Before Stiles could think of what to do next, Derek was on his back, the chain brutalizing his mouth, the back of his head being slammed into the asphalt. The next noise that Derek made wasn’t a growl, it was a piteous whimper that brought a sadistic smile to Chain-man’s face. Even though Derek grabbed onto the man’s wrists, his claws sinking deeply into flesh, he could not dislodge him. Worse yet, the pale gold of Derek’s eyes began to flicker and fade.

 

If Derek transformed back now, that chain would be the last thing he ever put in his mouth.

 

Picking the baseball bat up again, Stiles swung it with all his might, cursing and heaving hard. “Get off of him, you sick freak!” The man relented a little but would not get off of Derek, shrugging off Stiles’ attacks as if they were nothing more than mosquito bites. “Think you’re so tough, huh? Try shaking off this, asshole!” Altering his grip so that he was now holding the bat in a downward position, Stiles rammed it right between the man’s legs. The agonized howl that was produced by the hard aluminum striking soft testicles was music to Stiles’ ears. “Now get your sterile carcass off of _my_ wolf!” The second strike caused the man to tip onto his side, releasing Derek and clutching both hands between his legs. “Serves you right for being anatomically correct,” he quipped.

 

The man may have had paranormal powers and, as far as bounty hunters went, this leather clad moron fit the bill perfectly, but Stiles couldn’t kill him. Not that he wouldn’t have liked to try, but he just didn’t have the proper tools or sufficient time to pull it off in. Anyway, he had more important matters to attend to, like an injured, whimpering Derek.

 

“Hey, are you alright?” Stiles knelt down to the half-transformed wolf and tried to keep it macho and simple, because emotional detachment equaled safety. But Derek was not alright. He was struggling desperately hard not to revert to his human form until he had healed properly. If he changed back to human while those vicious cuts and bruises on the corners of his mouth were still unhealed, Derek would be in for a miserable recovery period restricted to an all-liquid diet. Okay, so maybe he needed to display a fraction of the emotional mayhem that was boiling inside of him. “Come on, Derek. We need to get you out of here before that freak decides he doesn’t need his balls to kill you.”

 

“I’m… trying…,” Derek moaned, although what he was trying to do, Stiles had no clue. Was he trying to get up? Trying to hold his form? Absolutely no clue.

 

“Yeah, you and me both.” Switching the baseball bat back to the one hand, Stiles crouched over Derek, slid both hands – the one holding the baseball bat was more difficult to maneuver – under the wolf’s back, and lifted. And, just like that, he had a warm, panting, injured Derek in his arms. Keeping an eye on the whipped man on the ground, Stiles half carried Derek back to the jeep. Sure, Derek was a toned god with all those perfectly defined muscles of his, but he wasn’t a dead weight. For some reason, being able to physically move Derek turned Stiles on. And when Stiles was turned on, he usually got an erection, which was oh-so-inappropriate considering the situation that they were in.

 

Stiles opened the passenger’s side door of his jeep and helped Derek in, nearly falling into his lap when the wolf pulled away from the seat, obviously still in pain from the lashing he’d taken over his shoulder and lower back. Pushing himself back up and moving his face away from Derek’s crotch, reluctantly of course, Stiles stroked his hand through the wolf’s hair, petting him briefly before moving away. Because that’s what you were supposed to do when an animal was hurt and frightened, you pet it. What the hell else were you supposed to do? It’s not like you could kiss it? _Fuck it!_ Oh, he most definitely could kiss Derek Hale, and you wouldn’t need to point a gun to his head to get him to do it.

 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Stiles said as he got into the driver’s side, accelerated just enough so that he hit Chain-man with the front end of his vehicle, sending him flying through the air. “He’s not going to be getting up anytime soon,” he snickered, and then sent the little jeep stuttering back the way it had come. After he’d been driving for a few minutes in silence, he became aware of a pair of piercing green eyes boring into him. “You need something?” Stiles asked, keeping his attention focused on the darkened road up ahead.

 

Derek had lost his grip on his wolf side and was now human again, basically healed, but still full of aches and pains. He stiffly adjusted himself in the seat and shakily exhaled. “Thanks,” he said quietly, that one word resonating with a heck of a lot more than gratitude. Because Stiles had been the one to save him. Not alpha wolf Scott, or super powered kitsune Kira. No. Normal, ordinary Stiles had come to his rescue with a baseball bat of all things, looking awfully heroic with his masterful swing.

 

“I owed you,” Stiles said with a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. When Derek continued to stare at him blankly, Stiles reminded the wolf of the debt that had now been settled. “The chocolate bar. Remember?”

 

“You’re comparing the value of my life to a stupid candy bar?”

 

“We’re not supposed to measure the value of generosity,” Stiles schooled Derek. “You know, the whole karma deal. If you get something good, you give something good back. Doesn’t matter what it is or how much it costs. And I’ll have you know that chocolate is the solution to my hyperactivity. It’s the key to all of life’s problems.”

 

“Hmph,” Derek grunted, unconvinced. Several minutes later, Derek surprised Stiles again by speaking, without first being spoken to. “What did you mean back there when you said _my wolf_?”

 

Stiles made a panicked squeak which fucked up whatever he’d been about to say, and turned to glare at Derek. Because challenging the wolf with anger sometimes had the unexpected side effect of shutting him up. But as soon as his eyes fell on Derek’s face, the wolf skittishly broke eye contact and leaned towards the door and away from him. No way! Had he just made Derek Hale nervous? Why? Because he had accidentally thrown in a possessive adjective in front of _wolf_ in the heat of the moment?

 

Oh, this was getting more interesting by the second!

 

“Did it bother you?” Stiles questioned, now paying a lot more attention to Derek and ignoring the road. Because he was an adolescent idiot full of hopes and dreams, and would grasp at any chance of being with Derek, no matter how unlikely that chance was. While Stiles didn’t think very highly of himself most of the time, it didn’t stop him from pursuing things he was interested in. Even if it was entirely futile and guaranteed to cause him emotional suffering and leave him mentally traumatized for life. He had four years of pining over Lydia as proof of that.

 

“Was it supposed to bother me?” Derek countered, gingerly touching his fingers to his lips, feeling for any scarring.

 

“Your pretty face is fine,” Stiles reassured him. Had he just blurted that out? _Censorship, Stiles. No filter, no friends,_ he mentally berated himself. “And no, it wasn’t supposed to bother you. It just… slipped out.” Time to change the subject. “What’s up with your half-assed wolf transformation? And why do you look so wasted?”

 

“My powers are fading,” Derek replied, sounding a lot more upset than he usually let on. “I can’t shift at will anymore. It takes a lot of… effort.”

 

That was not good. That was just really not something that Stiles wanted to hear. Every bounty hunter, thrill seeker, and murdering maniac was after _his_ wolf and the poor thing couldn’t even defend himself. “You’re joking, right?”

 

“Does it sound like I’m joking?” Derek’s tone became a lot more hostile. He had misinterpreted the shock and dismay in Stiles’ voice, confusing it with insensitive mocking. Because that’s how Stiles routinely talked to Derek, treating him like a nuisance and a burden. How else was he supposed to keep him at a distance?

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Stiles quickly explained.

 

“Then how did you mean it?”

 

Stiles didn’t waste his time answering that because he’d already come up with a plan. A plan that he was sure would raise the wolf’s hackles in defense. “I’m taking you to my house.”

 

“Excuse me?” All the fight left Derek’s voice, just like that.

 

“You heard me. You’re a wolf that can’t shift. I’m not going to leave you outside tonight where someone can get to you. So, you’re coming home with me and that’s final.”

 

“Stiles, I’m not your pet,” Derek said sarcastically, still not following Stiles’ twisted reasoning.

 

“No, you’re not. But I just rescued you, with a baseball bat of all things, and I’m not going to let my efforts go to waste.” Stiles boldly reached over to caress the side of Derek’s face, because that’s where this was headed if he took the wolf up to his bedroom. Although he knew that he was just begging to either be ripped to shreds or have his heart torn out and stepped on, he went with what he was feeling anyway. “Maybe you’re not my pet, but you can still be _my_ wolf, Derek. Let’s try it out and see what happens. You just might decide that you like it.”

 

“Stiles, what the fuck?” Derek gasped when Stiles’ hand slid down his neck, over his chest, and stopped at his flat abs.

 

“Maybe you think because you’re like – what – three years older than me you can run around with that superior attitude of yours. But guess what, I’m not a kid, so stop treating me like one. I’m completely legal – a hormonally charged overachiever – and plenty experienced. If there’s something you need, Derek, I’d be more than willing to give it to you. And something tells me you’re awfully needy.”

 

Derek fidgeted in his seat, not knowing whether to push Stiles’ hand away or invite it closer. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been getting these vibes off of the perpetually aroused teen with those dreamy amber brown eyes on a regular basis. He just hadn’t realized that Stiles’ sexual angst had been directed at him. “This is a bad idea,” Derek warned, but still did nothing to stop Stiles’ adventurous exploration of his toned torso. “You should keep two hands on the wheel.”

 

“Actually, I think it’s a great idea! And if you think it’s a bad idea, that’s all the more reason for you to trust me and go along with this because – no offense, Derek – you have the worst judgment, ever. Your first mistake was Kate, and you’re still paying for it. Your second mistake was Ms. Blake, that whack job of a teacher you were duped by. Are you seeing a pattern here? You have a psychological dependency on abuse, Derek. Maybe because you still feel guilty over trusting Kate only to be betrayed by her when she burnt your house – and family – to the ground. And you feel that you deserve to be punished for all eternity for something that wasn’t your fault. Do you get off on being hurt by these she-witches? Or have you had enough already?” Stiles returned his hand to Derek’s face, feeling the wolf’s lips quivering with emotion, and seeing his eyes filled with tearful anguish. “I promise I’ll treat you right, Derek. I won’t hurt you or betray you. The normalcy of being with me might drive you crazy with boredom, but that’s the extent of the pain I’ll cause you.”

 

For a long time, Derek didn’t say anything, or convince Stiles to turn the jeep around because they were still headed for Stiles’ house. Just when the silence was beginning to make Stiles all jittery and mess with his self-esteem, Derek mumbled something that was hard to hear. “I can deal with the boredom.” That, and nothing more. But it meant everything to Stiles.

 

* * *

 

 

For once, Stiles had the mischievous dealers of luck smiling down on him, because he arrived home to an empty driveway and a lightless house. His dad had come home early every day this week, but thankfully today would be the exception. The last thing Stiles wanted to have to explain was why he had brought a wolf home, and why that wolf was being led up to his bedroom. There would be lots of time – and daylight – to explain things to his dad tomorrow. He could hide Derek in his room for a few days, but he would eventually have no choice but to let his dad know about him. Stiles was determined to not make this a one-night stand. He hadn’t taken Derek back to his room to use him and then toss him to the curb. That’s what everyone else in Derek’s life had done to him and Stiles was going to put an end to that, for sure.

 

There would be no more sleeping in rundown, abandoned houses, or ratty derelict school buses for Derek. And he sure as hell was not going to let his wolf sleep on the street. Hell no! Enough of that already. What Derek needed was to be treated with kindness and kept in a warm bed, in Stiles’ arms where he belonged. Maybe Stiles was only human, and content to remain that way, but he was a man with something to protect. He’d be damned if he let Derek be harmed by one more psychotic nut job.

 

“You painted the walls,” Derek observed as he entered Stiles’ bedroom, staying a few paces behind his generous benefactor. There were very few people that could match Derek’s level of insecurity. That talk in the jeep should’ve been enough to spiritually brand Derek with Stiles’ name, but still the wolf resisted. The funny thing was that while Stiles had been going out of his mind with paranoia, worrying that he would never be good enough for Derek, the wolf had been doing the exact same thing.

 

“I had to do something to cover up all the holes in it. You know, mystical strings, push pins, and tape. It was a real eyesore.”

 

“Isn’t burgundy a bit heavy for a bedroom?”

 

“What? You don’t like burgundy? Doesn’t it remind you of a wolf’s den, or something?” Stiles closed his bedroom door and lowered the blinds. “It’s a good, strong color. Helps me think.”

 

“I have no idea. I’ll leave the interior decorating to you.”

 

Stiles sat down on his bed and toed off his sneakers. He scooted over, making room for Derek, and waited. He’d never had a pet dog, but if he had he imagined that it would have seriously tried his patience. Derek moved about the room, touching the furniture, picking up inconsequential artifacts, and just plain avoiding the bed. “Fooling around with my homework isn’t going to make you feel any less nervous,” Stiles said in frustration. “It’s just going to make me more nervous. Are you not attracted to me? Because if that’s it I totally understand.”

 

“What? Don’t be an idiot,” Derek said quickly. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t attracted to you.”

 

“Then what’s wrong?” Stiles tried to keep the whininess out of his voice but failed dramatically.

 

“I’m not sure how to do this… _your_ way,” Derek muttered, raising those lovely green eyes to gaze at him, before looking away again.

 

“Oh. Oh!” Well that sure explained a lot, and caused Stiles’ dick to jump excitedly in his pants. Derek was used to submitting to older women and letting them have their way with him. While he was a creature of considerable power – as a wolf – he didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body when it came to what went on in the bedroom. Hell, Stiles had taken home a _submissive_ wolf! Derek was all his, in whatever position he chose to take him in. Reminding himself that drooling was not attractive, Stiles got up to approach Derek over by the window. “My way is the best way,” he informed Derek as he pulled the wolf to him in a real handsy way.

 

“Stiles…”

 

Whatever Derek had been about to say lost all relevance when Stiles kissed him, his overeager momentum shoving the wolf back and into the blinds. Thankfully they seemed to have been securely installed because they held up when Stiles pinned Derek there, one hand on his nicely shaped ass, and the other in his dark ruffled hair. His mouth crushed up against Derek’s, forcing the wolf’s lips apart, his tongue probing inside that warm, wet mouth. Derek made a small, startled sound, which turned into a moan of appreciation as he began to kiss Stiles back. When Stiles had been with Malia, he’d been a lot gentler and more considerate, but he had never really _wanted_ her. Not like he wanted Derek. He couldn’t slow down, control himself, or hold back anything. There was no skill to his kiss, it was all licking, and biting, and sucking. But judging by the way Derek pushed into his arms and rubbed up against him, he doubted that he would be receiving any complaints about his lack of coordination in the morning.

 

“Fuck, I love it when you purr like that,” Stiles murmured into Derek’s ear, nipping on his earlobe and then wetly licking inside it.

 

Derek moaned throatily and dug his blunt fingernails – and thankfully not his claws – into Stile’s shoulder blades. “I… don’t… purr,” he gasped, contradicting himself when Stiles nudged his head up to begin mouthing kisses down his throat. As aggressive as Stiles was, nothing he did was intended to hurt or mark Derek, which was quite a turnaround from how the wolf was used to being treated while being possessed by another. Which wasn’t to say that Stiles was restraining himself, because he really made a show of pushing Derek up against the window, crashing into the blinds that rustled noisily and scratched along the glass.

 

“Oh, you’ll purr alright,” Stiles promised. “Once I’m done with you.”

 

Derek arched his neck, trying to reach Stiles’ lips with his teeth, growling when he was teased with light kisses on his bearded cheeks and chin instead. “Stop doing that,” he complained.

 

“Doing what? This?” Stiles groped and massaged Derek’s tight ass, and then pressed his hand lower, between those firm cheeks, fondling the wolf between the legs. “Or this?” Stiles pushed his hand down the front of Derek’s jeans without ceremony, palming over him as he watched those green eyes slide shut in heated pleasure. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Derek. What is it that you want me to stop?” This is what he had dreamt of on many a wet-dream filled night. There was nothing in the world – or afterlife – that could get him to stop now. He jammed his thigh between Derek’s legs and applied just enough pressure to really get the wolf to moan, and then pulled his hand out to begin undoing Derek’s jeans.

 

“I never imagined… you’d be… like this,” Derek panted, doing nothing to stop Stiles from lowering his jeans and underwear to the floor, leaving him totally exposed from the waist down.

 

“That’s your problem, Derek. You’ve got a real shitty sense of judgment. But then again, maybe if we’d gotten together last year, I would’ve been a bit clumsier and more hesitant. A person can change in one year, you know. Become a lot more OCD about getting into the pants of a certain, motherfucking sexy wolf.” Stiles pulled Derek away from the window and pushed him down onto the bed, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp in the process.

 

“You think I’m sexy?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles with his eyes a smoldering dark green, his red lips glistening, and his face and neck an attractive shade of feverish rose.

 

“That’s a dumb question, you sour-wolf. Everyone thinks you’re sexy, but my opinion is the only one that matters.” Stiles pulled off his t-shirt, unzipped his jeans, and dropped them to the floor. Not giving Derek the chance to appreciate his slightly modified physique – because he had been working out damn it! – Stiles got down on his knees between Derek’s thighs and began to stroke the wolf’s length. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth, darkened head, moving his hand up and down in a firm, confident rhythm. He could hear Derek’s breathing quicken as the stimulation caused his hips to jerk forward involuntarily. Before Derek’s mind could register that Stiles had removed his hand, he was being sucked into Stiles’ hot, wet mouth.

 

“Nngh,” Derek groaned, his fingers tangling in Stiles’ hair and his mouth falling open in wonder when that clever tongue began to lick him from base to tip. “Stiles…”

 

In response to his name being moaned by his wolf, Stiles sucked more enthusiastically, swirling his tongue over and around the head, before pulling off with a wet popping sound. “Get your shirt off,” Stiles ordered. “Let me see what I paid for.”

 

“You didn’t pay for me,” Derek panted, gazing up at Stiles in confusion.

 

“Figure of speech, moron. Just get it off and lie down.”

 

Derek pulled off his shirt, allowing Stiles to feast his eyes on the wolf’s godlike chest and washboard abs. He was a bit slower in lying back on the bed, his eyes darting hungrily from Stiles’ jutting erection to the hands that swept possessively over his upper body.

 

“You ever been with a man?” Stiles asked conversationally as he reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out the lube that he used to jerk off with when fantasizing about Derek.

 

“No,” Derek replied breathlessly, watching Stiles’ every move as that lube was uncapped and liberally squirted into his opposite hand.

 

“Oh man, you just made like a hundred of my perverted fantasies come true,” Stiles groaned. He discarded the lube onto the floor and took a good portion into his palm to begin to stroke himself until he was so hard it hurt. Leaning down onto Derek, he kissed him passionately, rubbing against him and pushing his legs apart and back. “So, no one has touched you here?” Stiles drew one lube coated finger over Derek’s ass, delving between his cheeks to stroke the hot opening to his body.

 

“Oh. My. God,” Derek snarled. “Can you please stop implying that I’m a virgin, because I’m not.”

 

“Here, you are,” Stiles insisted as he pushed his finger past the tight ring of muscle and deep inside of Derek. He smiled wickedly when the wolf moaned and tried to shut his legs. “I’m just saying, you won’t be after tonight, so why don’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

 

“You’re insufferable,” Derek said half-heartedly, whimpering when Stiles curled his finger and prodded something that felt so good.

 

“And that’s why you love me,” Stiles taunted, stilling his finger and freezing up inside when he realized his error. Shit! That was something he had promised himself he would never say. Derek was so quiet now, the aura surrounding him thick with angst. What if Derek didn’t love him? What if he decided to get up and escape right now, never to return? Or what if he said nothing at all? Which would also mean that he didn’t love him.

 

“Stiles, you’re a complete spaz,” Derek said softly, wrapping his arms around Stiles affectionately. “So maybe I’m an idiot for falling in love with a spaz.”

 

 _Fuck!_ Derek had just said the ‘L’ word! And he wasn’t being coerced, threatened, or possessed into saying it. “Well, if you love a spaz, I love a sour-wolf,” Stiles said with a grin, twisting his finger inside Derek to return things in the direction they’d been heading. When Derek began to relax and grow accustomed to the intrusion, Stiles added another finger and really set to work stretching and loosening him up. By the time he pulled his fingers free, he didn’t think that Derek would last much longer. He was just so gone, lying there moaning, his legs invitingly spread open, hot to the touch.

 

“Please stop talking,” Derek pleaded when it looked like Stiles was going to start talking dirty again.

 

“Right, less talking, more fucking.” Stiles grabbed hold of Derek’s legs and pulled him down the bed a bit so that he was in just the right position. Taking hold of his cock, he rubbed the head between Derek’s legs, applying more and more pressure to that tight ring of muscle before he pushed inside. “Damn, you’re so _tight_ ,” Stiles gasped, not caring that he sounded like a bad cliché from a cheap romance movie. Or porno. He doubted that romance movies would have that kind of detail in them.

 

“Stiles!” Derek warned, raking his claws down Stiles’ back as he frantically tried to remain sane.

 

“Claws. Claws!” Stiles yelped, thrusting forward when he felt his wolf retract the claws and settle for scratching the hell out of him with his nails instead. Derek made the most incredible noises when he was being fucked, grabbing for Stiles, kissing Stiles, begging for more of Stiles. Stiles hunched over Derek, kissing him in an overly wet display of horniness as he sped up the pace, thrusting forward and into Derek over and over again. Derek met his thrusts, crying out for him, nearing his orgasm. Stiles ground in one last time, extra hard and deep, causing his wolf to come all over that nicely toned abdomen and the bed sheets. Stiles was dragged along for the ride, coming in hard spurts deep inside of Derek. “Oh yeah…” Stiles groaned and gazed down proudly at the mess he’d made of Derek. The wolf was lying there, spent, satiated, and actually smiling. Unbelievable! Derek Hale was capable of smiling!

 

Stiles carefully pulled out of Derek and then flattened him to the bed when he fell on top of him, boneless and drained to the last drop. They kissed again, this time much gentler and quieter. Everything that had needed to be said and done had already been accomplished. Well almost everything.

 

Taking Derek’s hand into his own, Stiles traced the wolf’s nails with his thumb. “If you stick these into me again, I’m going to have you declawed,” he mildly joked.

 

“If it means I can stay with you, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Derek mused as they lay there together.

 

“You’re staying with me whether you want to or not. I own you now.”

 

“Stiles, you’re a real sick bastard sometimes, you know that?” But Derek didn’t come out and deny it, which meant that he had to know it was true.

 

“ _My_ wolf,” Stiles mumbled as he hugged Derek tightly, making himself comfy and reaching over to click off the bedside lamp.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning was a school day, so Stiles found himself – and his wolf – downstairs early, in the kitchen having breakfast together. The sex last night had been otherworldly, but the cleanup had been another thing entirely. Stiles would have to wash his own sheets to avoid his dad going ballistic on him over the mess they’d made of them. Washing each other off in the shower had been the fun part, although Derek had been in greater need of some soapy fondling than Stiles had.

 

And now here they were, enjoying a companionable breakfast of Fruity Mix Granola with Stiles’ favorite orange juice.

 

“This stuff is loaded with sugar,” Derek complained, shoving his bowl of cereal away and reaching for the orange juice instead. A second later, that also got pushed in Stiles’ direction. “Do you have anything that isn’t going to cause diabetes?”

 

Stiles glanced over at Derek, admiring the wolf in _his_ pajamas – because nothing else in the drawers had fit him – and grinned. “Like you don’t need the calories after last night,” he said sarcastically.

 

“It’s not about the calories, it’s about the sugar content. What the hell are they teaching you in school?”

 

“If I had less demons to fight and more time to attend classes, I might be able to answer that. Sadly, I have no idea.”

 

The sound of the front door unlocking had Stiles out of his chair and halfway across the kitchen before his dad appeared in the doorway.

 

“Morning, Son,” Sheriff Stilinski, still dressed in his sheriff’s uniform after a terribly long night at work, greeted Stiles.

 

“Hey Dad!” Stiles held open the refrigerator door, pretending to be going through the stuff on the top shelf.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek said dully, but politely, before returning to what he had started doing a moment ago. Mainly fishing out all the fruit from his granola and dumping it into Stiles’ bowl.

 

“Morning… Derek?” Sheriff Stilinski looked at Derek in confusion, and then back at Stiles, and then again at Derek. Most likely wondering, _what the hell is Derek Hale doing in our kitchen at this time in the morning?_ And, _why is he wearing Stiles’ pajamas_?

 

“About that, Dad,” Stiles began awkwardly. “We’re going to have to have a really long, embarrassing conversation about this, probably after school tonight. But in the meantime – please don’t kill me – I’ve invited Derek to live with us. Yeah, shocking I know. But not totally unusual for kids nowadays. Because homeless kids suck. Not the kids. The being homeless part. Not that Derek is a kid.” Stiles continued to babble on, hoping to wear his dad down before he had a chance to explode. “Because Isaac was living with Scott… and then he was living with Allison, but probably not in the same way Derek is going to be living with me. I mean _us_.”

 

“Holy crap,” Sheriff Stilinski groaned, rubbing his tired eyelids as he began to feel the urge to drink coming on. “First there was the Kanima, and then the Nokitsune… and now Derek.”

 

“Are you putting me in the same category as the Nokitsune?” Derek asked, sounding offended.

 

“No, although the shock factor is comparable. Anyway, I’m going to bed. I’m beat. When you get home later on, we can discuss this, along with what I never expect to catch you two doing alone together. Got it?”

 

“Uh… sure, Dad.” Gee, that had been awfully easy.

 

“Derek?” Sheriff Stilinski looked at the wolf pointedly.

 

“Whatever you say, Sheriff. They’re your house rules,” Derek agreed for the sake of getting that man out of the kitchen.

 

“Well, I’m off to school now,” Stiles announced as soon as his dad was safely hidden away upstairs. He pulled Derek in for a kiss and grabbed his backpack off of the floor. “And while I’m gone, keep your claws off the furniture.”


	2. Chapter 2

What the hell had he gotten himself into? Derek flicked through the channels on the TV set, trying to find something interesting to watch. There wasn’t anything even remotely entertaining on cable this early in the afternoon, and there had been even less to choose from in the morning. And on top of that, he didn’t actually _like_ watching TV. He had done literally nothing all day. From the moment Stiles had stepped out the front door, Derek had found himself trapped in the house of mundane horrors.

 

Sheriff Stilinski had slept through Derek’s very thorough inspection of the house. Derek had been into both the upstairs and the downstairs bathroom, the living room – more than several times – the den, the kitchen – not that there was anything worth eating in there – the study, and even the basement. There were only three things available for drinking in the Stilinski household – milk, that dreadful orange juice, or whisky. And Derek didn’t care for any of them. No wonder Stiles was living with such nutritional deficiencies. By the looks of things, neither Stiles nor his father cooked, and so the lack of fruits, vegetables, and protein in the refrigerator was a direct reflection of that fact.

 

Although the Stilinski’s owned a Blu-ray player, they didn’t actually possess any Blu-ray discs. Ditto for the CD player. All the video and audio content was probably on Stiles’ laptop computer in digital format, tucked safely away in Stile’s backpack. Both Stiles and the backpack wouldn’t be returning for hours and Derek was at a loss when it came to ordering movies through the TV itself, so he couldn’t immerse himself in the hysterics of Hollywood to pass the time.

 

While there had been one hell of a haystack of documents, file folders, and printouts strewn all over Sheriff Stilinski’s study, Derek figured that they were probably from the sheriff’s department and off limits to guests. Still, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been tempted. Leafing through a few random files here and there might have been all the stimulus that his brain needed to make it to 4:30, when he expected Stiles to return home and put him out of his misery.

 

Back up in Stiles’ bedroom, Derek began to feel slightly melancholic and lonely. Despite his powers being drastically diminished, he could still catch the faint scent of Stiles on the bed sheets, lingering in the textbook left open on the cluttered desk, and all over the pajamas that he’d been wearing for the better part of the morning. He missed Stiles. He always missed Stiles, just never this intensely or this profoundly.

 

 _Stiles?_ His lover’s scent was enticingly potent towards one corner of the bed, and when Derek patted down the mattress in that area he discovered a hardcover book buried there. Seeing as how Stiles had insisted that they sleep in the same bed, and share the same room, Derek had no qualms about going through anything and everything he could get his hands on. Even if he found it hidden away or sealed with a lock. Pulling the book out from under the mattress, Derek placed it cover side up onto the pillow… and just gaped at it. “Lycan-sutra. Over one hundred desirable sexual positions for a werewolf. Stiles! What the fuck?!” Feeling contaminated by just touching the book, Derek shoved it back into its hiding spot. Seriously?! A werewolf sex manual?!

 

Needing to get as far away from that poorly illustrated piece of nonsense as possible, Derek retreated back to the first floor and began to pace.

 

“Are you still here?”

 

Derek looked up to the top of the staircase as he crept past it to find the senior Stilinski up and about in a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. So much like Stiles, and yet so different.

 

“Did you want me to leave?” Derek asked bluntly.

 

“What? No, no! I just meant… what are you doing?”

 

Derek met Stilinski’s searching gaze and returned it with his best wolf stare down. Because he didn’t know what else to do or how to answer the question. In all honesty, he wanted to get the hell out of the house and come back when Stiles was home. The atmosphere between him and Stilinski was still fuzzy and vague, especially after Stiles’ idiotic living arrangements proposal. And he needed to be careful as hell not to let Stiles’ father discover what had transpired between him and his son last night. Or let him find the incriminating bed sheets that Stiles had ridiculously balled up and tossed into a corner of his closet. But, as much as he craved some fresh air, he didn’t dare go outside for fear of being whipped with more chains.

 

“Okay, stop it with the eyes,” Stilinski rumbled as he came traipsing down the stairs, still looking and sounding groggy as hell.

 

If there was one thing Derek never wanted to become – if he ever found himself in need of a job – it was a deputy, or a sheriff. Where was the reward in such a dangerous, painstaking, underpaid job? No wonder Stiles was always worried sick about his father. The man lived and breathed law enforcement and had time for nothing else. And the only thing he had to show for it were wrinkles on his forehead, which were becoming deeper by the day.

 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? I have no problem with you staying here as long as you need to, because it’s important to my son, but I kind of need to know if you’re in some kind of trouble.”

 

“Why would you think I was in some kind of trouble?” Derek repeated unemotionally. Oh, he was _so_ good at pretending to be unemotional. It really gave him the upper hand in any argument or, in this case, Sheriff Stilinski’s interrogation tactics.

 

“Because you just have that look on your face.” Stilinski scrutinized Derek some more on his way to the kitchen. “You know, that look that says you’re worried about something?”

 

What the hell? Did telepathy run in the family or something? First Stiles had cornered him, miraculously predicting what he himself hadn’t known he’d needed – not that most people would know they had a craving for taking it up the *** unless they tried it for the first time – and now Stilinski was reading his facial expressions. What was next? Tea leaf readings? But there was so much more to Stiles than uncontrollable hormones. Stiles had matured drastically over the past year and a half, becoming more confident and determined. Sure, he continued to play the fool by shooting off his mouth and overdoing it with the dumb idiot charade, but Derek knew better. The old Stiles never would have had the guts to look at him, never mind pin him down to the bed and let his true feelings slip out. The new Stiles was hiding inside the old Stiles’ former shell, hardened by what he had seen and what he’d experienced. It was the culmination of recent events – both good and bad – that Derek had to thank for Stiles finally working up the courage to act on his impulses.

 

“Derek?” Stilinski said encouragingly, still waiting for Derek to answer the question.

 

“Okay… I’m a little worried. I got attacked by a paranormal bounty hunter last night, who happened to total my car. But I can’t shift, and I no longer have any transportation, so I’m going to wait for Stiles to come home before I go to pick up my stuff from the loft.”

 

“A paranomal bounty hunter…” Stilinski’s mouth remained open for far too long, as if he wanted to swallow that word whole, like a frog does with a fly. He literally had the same reaction every time Stiles or Scott introduced a new supernatural villain to his vocabulary. “You can’t shift?” Stilinski took a glass down from the kitchen cupboard and filled it with tap water – not whisky. No, it was definitely too early for whisky. “Well that’s a serious problem.” Draining the glass completely, he refilled it and continued to study Derek. “This is as weird for me as it is for you,” he chuckled, obviously picking up on Derek’s tangible discomfort. “But I’m sure Stiles will be happy to get you out of that loft and away from Peter. He really hates that renegade wolf, and his feelings are well justified. That man is an absolute loony bin. And yes, I know that you’re not homeless.”

 

Derek shrugged, not really wanting to discuss the psychotic uncle who had hacked his older sister in half with Sheriff Stilinski. He doubted that Stilinski could possibly relate to what it felt like to happen across a loved one’s dismembered corpse. One of these days, Derek felt sure that he would need to go in for grief counseling, unless Stiles was willing to provide that, too. “Nobody likes Peter. We’re just keeping him around until he either betrays someone or fails to be useful anymore. And no, I didn’t say that I was homeless. Stiles implied it.”

 

Stilinski put his glass down on the countertop and looked at Derek, who in turn stared mutely back at him. “Uh… I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come out and say it.”

 

“I didn’t make your son gay,” Derek said calmly, glad to get that off his chest.

 

“What?! No! That isn’t what I was going to say. Geez, can you sit down and relax? You’re making me nervous.”

 

“Only if you sit down first.” Because Derek was not going to spend a thirty minute lecture craning his head up to look at Stilinski, which would in turn make his shoulder injury hurt even worse. It still hadn’t healed, along with the awful back pains. He hadn’t bothered mentioning it to Stiles because they were only minor injuries – for a wolf. And it wasn’t like Stiles would have noticed the swollen bruises because he’d kept Derek on his back all night. But what would happen if he completely lost the ability to access his powers? _That’s never going to happen._ Derek shuddered and pushed the thought out of his head.

 

“Fine. We’ll both sit down.” Stilinski pulled out a chair and waited for Derek to do the same. They sat down simultaneously and watched each other like a pair of birds of prey on edge. “I don’t know what happened last night that caused Stiles to make you a permanent guest here, but it must have been something pretty significant for him to admit his feelings to you.”

 

 _Yeah. Like hot, awkward Stiles sex._ Although there really hadn’t been anything awkward about it. It had been devastatingly erotic and over far too fast. Teenagers and their haste to get through everything at warp speed. What a wonderfully spirited werewolf Stiles would have made, rutting into him at all hours of the night. Derek turned and coughed, struggling to keep a straight face.

 

“Stiles has been through a lot lately,” Stilinski continued, “and the last thing he needs is to find his _paramour_ face down in a gutter, sacrificed or bludgeoned to death.”

 

“Excuse me, Sir,” Derek interrupted. “ _Paramour_? Isn’t that a bit French?”

 

“Whatever. You know what I mean. I’m his father but I’m not an idiot. Stiles hasn’t changed the sheets on his bed once in all the years that we’ve lived here. And now the set that he had on his bed last is missing.” Stilinski’s face reddened as he shook a disturbing mental image out of his head. “That’s not my point. You know what, Derek? You have the really bad habit of distracting people.”

 

Derek really didn’t think that it was his fault that he was so maladjusted to society. He’d spent most of his life being used and abused that he no longer put any effort into appearing _normal_ , if there was such a thing as normal in this day and age. If anything, the dour aura that he projected did a hell of a good job of keeping the crazies and emotional manipulators away.

 

“I thought that you just said you didn’t know why Stiles decided to make me a permanent guest,” Derek reminded Stilinski.

 

“Oh Lord, so it was for _that_ reason? I just thought… you know, teenagers just… do that!”

 

What the hell was Stilinski teaching his son? That it was excusable to screw around but asking someone to move in required a serious and wholesome reason? Wasn’t sex the only reason two people chose to live together? Because Derek couldn’t think of any other reason why anyone would voluntarily subject themselves to Stilinski’s workaholic self-destructiveness.

 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re going to have to be real careful from now on, for Stiles. He can’t find you in pieces on the street or taken away from him. Do you understand? It’ll destroy him.”

 

“Believe me, I would rather not end up in pieces on the street myself,” Derek said with a shiver.

 

“Well, good then. That’s good. I’m glad we had this conversation. It’s been… good.”

 

_Mental note on Stilinski. Seriously lacking in the English vocabulary department._

 

“Well, you can go on back to whatever you were doing… or not doing.” When Derek continued to sit at the table, not knowing what else to do with himself, Stilinski sighed in frustration. “If you’re that bored, you could always vacuum the upstairs hallway and maybe tidy up the living room. Nobody seems to do that anymore.”

 

Derek abruptly pushed his chair back as he jumped to his feet. “I think that I heard something in the basement.” He vanished before Stilinski could ask him to clean the toilets.

 

* * *

 

 

How could Stiles go from having the most awesome sex and waking up with the melt-in-your-mouth delicious Derek Hale in his arms, to being harassed on the way home by Scott McCall? Friend or not, the little prick had to be doing it on purpose. _Chemistry tutor, my ass!_ Like Scott suddenly discovered that chemistry wasn’t actually an elective and was so desperate to pass the final exam that he would tag along home with Stiles, when he could’ve just gone to Kira’s house to study. That’s what couples did, for fuck’s sake, they studied together! Scott hadn’t expressed any desire in studying with him since Allison, so what gives?

 

Of course Stiles already knew the answer to that. Stupid alpha Scott could probably smell Derek all over him and just couldn’t contain his curiosity. Why did Stiles smell like Derek? Where was Derek? What had Stiles been doing with Derek? But no, Scott would never come out and ask such personal questions, because he would snoop around until he found the answers by himself.

 

“Why can’t you study with Kira?” Stiles asked for the fourth time, stopping Scott from getting out of the jeep after he’d parked in his driveway.

 

“I told you,” Scott said with a guilty, poor excuse for a laugh. “She’s spending time with her parents tonight, and the exam is coming up in a few days. If I don’t pass…” Scott cocked his head, as if listening to something, but Stiles knew the bastard was just scenting the air. Sometimes Stiles wished he had that ability because he really loved the way Derek smelled - all primal and untainted by the vices of regular humans. Derek never gave off even the slightest hint of intoxication, tobacco, or – heaven forbid – marijuana.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles grumbled. _Thanks a lot for ruining my allocated make-out time with Derek_ , he wanted to say. But instead, offered a civilized, “come on in.” Scott had never really needed an invitation to enter the Stilinski household in the past. Up until recently, neither of them had had any problems with sneaking in through the other’s bedroom window to hang out past curfew or get into mischief. But since they’d begun dating all that had changed. The last thing Stiles wanted was for Scott to barge in on him and his wolf doing the nasty. And he could also do without the trauma of seeing Scott’s naked ass on display for Kira, or whoever the next chick in line happened to be.

 

His dad’s car was gone again so he had either returned to work or gone grocery shopping. Hopefully the latter because there were now three mouths to feed and the cupboards were looking rather bare.

 

Giving Scott’s demented grinning face a sideways dirty look, Stiles shouted out a warning to Derek, knowing that his wolf was having difficulty scenting and might not know that the alpha was with him. “Derek! Scott is here to say hello!”

 

Derek appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing last night, and looking a bit lethargic. But whether it was from inactivity or more werewolf problems, Stiles had no idea. “Hello Scott,” Derek addressed the alpha briefly before disappearing back into Stiles’ bedroom.

 

“Oh great! You’ve gone and pissed him off,” Stiles muttered. “Thanks a lot!”

 

“What did I do?” Again Scott laughed, as if something was so funny that he just couldn’t help himself. “And why is Derek here anyway? In your bedroom?”

 

“Just shut up so we can get this _tutoring_ façade over with,” Stiles bit off impatiently. He marched up the stairs, cursing when Scott energetically overtook him and bounded for the bedroom. Scott just couldn’t wait to--.

 

_Owooooo!!!_

 

Stiles nearly fell down the stairs in fright when he heard a distressful howl come from his bedroom. _What the fuck?!_ Stumbling and flailing up the stairs like a drunken madman, Stiles raced to his bedroom to protect his wolf. But when he crashed into the doorframe, inadvertently whacking Scott on the side of the head as he spun around to search the room for Derek, he found the wolf a few feet from the doorway – completely unharmed. So where was the threat?

 

When a low growl emitted from the back of Scott’s throat, reverberating into the room, down the hallway, and rebounding off the walls, Stiles yelped. Turning back to Scott, he saw that the alpha was in full-alpha mode, his wolf ears erect and his fangs glinting menacingly in the hallway lighting.

 

“What the fuck? _What the fuck?!_ ” Stiles blocked the doorway, not knowing what had gotten into the two wolves, but not about to let the alpha anywhere near _his_ wolf.

 

“That’s what I wanted to say,” Scott practically roared. “You said that you knew everything there was to know about werewolves!”

 

“Well, obviously I don’t because I had no idea that male werewolves suffered from PMS!” Stiles shouted back, shrinking away a little when those lethal fangs pointed in his direction. He divided his attention between his best friend, who looked like he wanted to maul him to death, and his wolf, who seemed to be guarding the entrance to the bedroom. “What the hell is the matter with you two?”

 

“You invited me back to your _love nest_ ,” Scott shouted in revulsion. “A werewolf can’t intrude on another werewolf’s _mating spot_ , you idiot!”

 

“Huh?” Stiles glared dumbly at Scott. “Then why did you ask to come up here if you knew that, you asshole?”

 

“I didn’t know that you and… _Derek_ … were even interested in each other, never mind sleeping with each other.”

 

“But… you knew Derek was here!”

 

“Because Peter told me! I thought that they had gotten into a fight, so I came here to rub it in Derek’s face. That’s it.”

 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, and hiding his hands behind his back because they were shaking like a drug addict going through withdrawal, Stiles did some risk assessment. “Are you going to attack Derek?”

 

“What? No! Why would I attack Derek?”

 

“Then why are you performing the male-testosterone ritual for him?” Stiles shot back.

 

“He challenged me first!”

 

“Really? Because from where I was standing that sounded like a howl for help, not an _I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass_ growl.”

 

“Ask him!”

 

“That was a distress howl, wasn’t it, Derek?” Stiles asked his lover for confirmation of what he already knew. He’d been researching wolves and werewolves and the various howls, growls, and mating calls that they made to be able to tell the difference.

 

“Yes, it was. And you came.”

 

“So you didn’t challenge Scott?” Stiles asked, because that would be just like Derek to pick a fight with an opponent that he had no hope of defeating. Especially since Scott was now the alpha and Derek the beta.

 

“Actually, I did,” Derek replied evenly. “This is _our_ room now. If he sets one foot in it, you’ll carve him up. Preferably with knives from the kitchen. Because that cheap little Swiss army knife that you have hidden under your pillow is all rusty.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Because you’re my alpha.”

 

 _Oh… Holy shit! I’m an alpha?!_ How? When? Why? Stiles felt like his head was going to implode and his universe with it. Derek had just admitted that he belonged to Stiles by calling him an alpha. A _fucking_ badass, balls-of-steel alpha!

 

“Get real, Stiles,” Scott laughed rudely as he transformed back to his human form with that natural flair of his. “He said that you were _his_ alpha, not _an_ alpha. There’s a grammatical difference there, and I don’t have to be failing English class to know that.”

 

“Doesn’t matter to me how it was phrased, dude. Alpha means alpha. Look it up in the dictionary on your way out the door.” Then Stiles turned to Derek. “Derek, disaster averted,” Stiles smugly announced. “You can put away your claws now.”

 

“My claws aren’t out,” Derek replied, sounding kind of bewildered.

 

“You know, I thought we were bros,” Scott complained as he prepared to make himself scarce. “I thought that we told each other _everything_.”

 

“Since when have we told each other _everything_?” If there wasn’t such an overwhelming lag between the time Scott found out about incoming monsters and the time he got off his ass to inform the people around him of said threats, Stiles might not have such a problem with his anxiety at night.

 

At that, Scott became marginally more riled up than he had before. “Dude, I do tell you everything! Like that time when I was with Allison and the condom broke… You were the first person I told!”

 

Just fuck it already! Sometimes putting some distance between yourself and your closest friends was not such a bad thing. “Scott, overshare. Thanks, but no thanks. These _secrets_ ,” he erratically gestured at Derek and then himself, “in a relationship are a good thing. So why don’t you keep your pregnancy scares to yourself, and I’ll keep my wolf to myself? Sound fair?”

 

“See you later, Stiles. Derek.” Scott stomped off down the stairs, probably going back to Kira to sulk about how his friends were keeping secrets from him.

 

Once Scott was out of the house, hopefully never to visit again, Stiles occupied his arms with one very warm and sweet smelling wolf. The subtle woody smell mixed in with a fragrant hint of lavender and citrus, which inspired images of Derek rolling around in an open meadow to mask his scent from predators – not that he would ever do such a thing – had been replaced by something from the confectionary department. He nuzzled Derek’s neck and sighed. “Derek, what did you get into? The cookies?”

 

“No.”

 

“Chocolate?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why do you smell so freaking good-enough-to-eat?”

 

“I was hungry and everything in the fridge was either rotting or unidentifiable, so I opened the box on the shelf in the living room. They looked like Chinese dumplings… but they were sweet.”

 

 _Shit!_ Stiles would be picking his injured eardrums off of the floor when his dad found out. Derek had gotten into the _mochi_ souvenirs from Japan that the woman down from the crime lab had bought while on vacation. His dad’s special _lady friend_. So dead. So so dead. “Oh. I see. And how were they?”

 

Derek pressed closer to Stiles and made a small sound of indifference. “They might have tasted better if I had had any clue of what I was eating.”

 

“So you left some then?” Stiles asked hopefully.

 

“I was starving. Why would I leave any? There were only six in the box.”

 

“Then I guess there’s only one way for me to find out what they taste like.” Stiles started off by tasting Derek’s lips with the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t find any remnants of mochi there. Just to be sure, he swiped across them a few more times for good measure, holding Derek captive with both hands on his face and one leg hooked around the back of his ankle. If his wolf tried to escape, the only place he’d be going was to the floor. Derek pressed his lips tightly closed when Stiles’ tongue pushed into his mouth, teasing him by not making it easy. That was okay by Stiles because he really got off on claiming his wolf. Derek moaned when Stiles’ tongue stroked alongside his own, sharing the lingering taste of sweet red beans and powdered rice cakes. Stiles’ fingers grazed Derek’s short dark beard, caressing him from the edges of his sideburns to his chin, and then down his neck and over his shoulders. He swept his hands back again, mapping out Derek’s sinfully sculpted chest, his thumbs honing in on the hard nipples that were fairly visible through the thin fabric of the wolf’s black t-shirt.

 

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, shying away from both the kiss and the insistent rubbing at his nipples when the sensation overwhelmed him.

 

“Your nipples are sensitive?” Stiles asked as he not-so-subtly licked his lips in anticipation.

 

“Only because your touch is too light,” Derek explained, although he did so with a confused expression.

 

“My touch is just fine,” Stiles said angrily. Oh, was his imagination wandering down a shady, innocence-lost path. “I’m not going to hurt you, Derek. It may take a while for you to get used to how good being touched by someone who loves you feels. No whips. No chains. And no electric shocks. Ever.”

 

“I don’t want that anymore,” Derek protested. “I never wanted that.” Something in his voice broke, taking the mood that Stiles had been nurturing with it.

 

“Shit. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Stiles apologized, holding Derek tightly and beginning to rub his back, which just caused the wolf to flinch and tear out of his embrace. “What? What did I do?” Stiles cried out in dismay, hurt that Derek would pull away from him like that.

 

Derek retreated to the bed and sat down there, slightly hunched over with his fingers digging into his thighs, cringing in poorly disguised pain. “Sorry. It’s my back…”

 

That only made Stiles feel worse as he wrongfully assumed that Derek was referring to his lower back. “I hurt you last night? Derek, I’m so _so_ sorry.” He had a brief moment to feel like a hypocrite for having promised never to hurt Derek like the others in his past had before his wolf began to shake his head.

 

“Not you. That man with the chain. The wounds haven’t healed yet.”

 

“What?” It had to have been eighteen hours already. How could they still not have healed? And how could Stiles not have noticed? “Show me.” He impatiently waited for Derek to pull off his t-shirt and then just stood there, speechless, when the ugly reddish-purple stripes over his wolf’s right shoulder and between his shoulder blades became visible. Why the fuck hadn’t he seen this last night? He’d been so preoccupied with nailing Derek to the mattress that the thought of checking him over for injuries hadn’t even crossed his mind. There’d be plenty of time for berating himself for this oversight later. Right now he needed to get some ice to bring down the swelling and Neosporin to soothe the pain and prevent infection. Stiles gently stroked Derek’s hair and placed a hand on his left shoulder. “Lie down. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Which was bullshit. Without the healing powers of a werewolf, those welts were going nowhere fast.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour or so after Stiles had begun applying an ice pack to Derek’s wounds, and after generously slathering half a tube of Neosporin all over and around the damaged skin, he sat back against the headboard with his wolf in his lap. Derek was curled up on his left side and using Stiles’ thigh as a pillow, his eyelids closed in peaceful content as he was stroked and caressed. While neglecting Derek’s wounds earlier had made Stiles feel like an irresponsible jackass, having him here now like this – completely docile and trusting – really tugged at his heartstrings.

 

Remembering Derek’s confused expression when Stiles had told him to put his claws away, he took the wolf’s hand in his own and began to press down on his fingernails. Much like he would’ve done to the neighbor’s cat to make its claws come out. When nothing happened, he chewed on his bottom lip and regretfully disturbed the comfortable silence between them. “Can you still extend your claws?”

 

“Not really,” Derek murmured drowsily.

 

“Does ‘not really’ mean you kind of can? Or totally can’t?”

 

“Can’t.”

 

“When was the last time you could?”

 

“Last night. When I scratched you.”

 

Oh yeah. Those had been some pretty decent scratches. Like from a cat on steroids using his back as a scratching post. But Stiles had already seen to them so it was no big deal. Nothing – _absolutely freaking nothing in this world_ – could compare to the beating he’d taken from that motherfucker Gerard. Except maybe the time when the Nokitsune had used his body as a host for demonic flies and released them by cutting open his belly. _Screw it! The Nokitsune wins, hands down!_

 

When Derek grabbed hold of Stiles’ hand and replaced it on his face, basking in the attention he was getting, Stiles smiled softly down at him. His wolf appeared all brooding and macho on the outside, but he was so needy and tame on the inside.

 

 _Creak_. _Creak… CREAK!_

 

Stiles jerked his head up, reacting to the sounds of the old floorboards on the first floor being compressed by the weight of something heavy. _Dad?_ But his dad wasn’t due back for another twenty-five minutes and he didn’t make that much noise in the first place. After another creak, Derek’s eyelids flew open and his entire body went rigid, his sea-green eyes anxiously scanning the doorway.

 

“Stiles…”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles whispered back to Derek, quietly lowering his legs over the side of the bed as his wolf warily climbed out of his lap. He paused, listening intently, when the creaking stopped. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to spring into action, as he waited. And waited. When it seemed like there were to be no more creaks, he stupidly let himself relax, only to be startled into clashing his teeth together at the deafening clang of a pile of chains hitting the floor. _No no no!_ How had that monster found them? And how had he gotten into the house?

 

“I can’t shift. _I can’t shift_.” Derek breathed in a rising panic that was both terrifying and contagious.

 

“Neither can I,” Stiles hissed, grabbing his wolf by the arms and pushing him down behind one end of the bulky chest of drawers, out of sight of the door. “It’s you he’s after. So stay hidden.”

 

“Are you _insane_?” Derek lurched back to his feet and tried to grab onto Stiles. “What are you going to do? Bore him to death?”

 

“Stay hidden!” Stiles commanded, planting one hand firmly on Derek’s chest and pushing him back down. A numbing thrill went up his spine when the sound of that chain began to drag along the floorboards, before metallically slapping the first step at the bottom of the staircase. Shaking it off, he dashed across the room and picked up a metal tin from the corner of his desk. It had originally housed a handful of lethally expired mints, but now it contained something a lot more useful – mountain ash. He hoped he was right and the mountain ash would keep them safe. Really, truly hoped that he wasn’t making a big mistake by not thundering down the stairs with his lacrosse stick to fend off the intruder before he got too close to Derek. Not like a stupid wooden stick would hold up for long against an unbreakable length of looped metal.

 

Flipping open the lid, Stiles took a pinch of the dusty charcoal substance inside and sprinkled it across the doorway. Moving on, he outlined his bedroom from wall to wall with the mountain ash, being incredibly anal with all four corners and the window sill. Because missing a spot would be like Scott and his burst condom – accidents do happen. And in the background, chain man continued to ascend the staircase, slowly, as if to taunt them, knocking the chain against the railing and wall for added effect.

 

Brushing off his fingers, Stiles retrieved his cell phone from inside his backpack and sent off a quick text to Scott.

 

_Psycho killer wielding chain in house._

_Derek not shifting._

_Need backup ASAP!_

Doubling up on the reinforcements, Stiles called his dad and left a fairly disturbing message when he didn’t pick up.

 

“Hey, Dad? We’re trapped in the bedroom with an axe murderer outside the door. We’d appreciate it if you illegally pushed your way through rush hour traffic and got home just a little earlier today. Thanks.”

 

“We could go out the window,” Derek helpfully suggested, again poking his dark head out from behind his mahogany shield.

 

By the time they managed to get the blinds and window up, climb up over the windowsill, and scale the roof – making all the noise in the world – chain man would have had ample time to rush outside to greet them with a hundred lashes of punishment for their troubles. Escape was kind of out of the question right now.

 

“Get your ass back there!” What the hell was he going to do with a wolf who couldn’t do as he was told? Spank him? Well now, there was an inappropriate kinky thought. And just one of many in an inexhaustible list that Stiles had picked up from _Lycan-sutra_ , although he honestly had no desire to introduce his wolf to BDSM. It just got filed away under the category _don’t intentionally hurt Derek_.

 

The heavy clang of metal striking wood caused Stiles to jump two feet in the air and whirl around to face Chain-man, grabbing hold of his lacrosse stick that was leaning up against his bed – just in case. Wielding it like a madman auditioning for a Friday the 13th reboot, Stiles prepared to give chain man a mouthful… _Seriously?! What the fuck?!_ If only Chain-man had had a pair of ears to listen to his threats with. Or a mouth. Or a set of eyes for that matter. The lack of a nose wasn’t such a big issue for him so he set that on the back burner for now.

 

“What the fuck are you supposed to be? Mister Potato Head?” Was this the same motherfucker who had forced that filthy chain into his wolf’s mouth last night? Stiles could have sworn that he’d seen a face. Who didn’t have a face? This brought new meaning to the expression _faceless motherfucker_. But it wasn’t so much that he didn’t have a face, it was more like Stiles couldn’t bring his eyes to focus on it. It was like taking an image into Photoshop and completely blurring out an entire section. Something was there, but it would be impossible to determine what without removing that layer mask.

 

“Give me the wolf,” the blank orb of a head commanded, dragging the toe of his boot in front of the barrier of mountain ash. He was dressed like any normal human would be, in a pair of jeans that were in desperate need of a washing, a long sleeved brown shirt with a logo on one shoulder and the sleeves rolled up, and a generic baseball cap with the badge torn off. Pure serial killer material.

 

Like hell this Halloween reject was taking his wolf. “I don’t have a wolf. Although I have been thinking about getting a rodent, like maybe a hamster or a chinchilla. Or maybe a capybara, which is like the king of all rodents. But I don’t know. What do you think?” Stiles gripped his lacrosse stick harder, mentally controlling his twitching when Chain-man began to peer into his room. Or at least that was the impression he was giving off. Because how do you peer if you have no freaking eyeballs?!

 

“The wolf in exchange for your life,” Chain-man offered reasonably, like he was trading baseball cards down at the flea market.

 

“Maybe you need to glue on a pair of ears, asshole. I said I don’t have a wolf, and even if I hypothetically did I wouldn’t give him to you.”

 

Chain-man relaxed his posture for a moment, dangling that chain of his in a brief display of disinterest. Which only lasted ten seconds before he lashed at the strip of mountain ash with it, disturbing the mystical particles and breaking the seal, before pulling the chain taut between both hands. “It doesn’t concern me what condition I get the wolf in. I will be taking him from you, one way or the other. You, on the other hand, I don’t need or want. You, I will gladly destroy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was all set to club Chain-man over the head when he stepped over the threshold of disturbed mountain ash, but Derek happened to beat him to it. Derek lunged at the paranormal psycho, grabbed the chain with both hands and thrust forward. The attack might have succeeded if a) Derek were taller, or b) Derek were in werewolf form. But as it turned out, Chain-man was taller, which gave him the advantage of leverage, and stronger. Stiles watched in horror as Chain-man shook Derek off of the chain, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, which he didn’t have in human form, and flung him hard against the bedroom door. Derek gave a sharp cry of pain and didn’t get back up.

 

“Oh, you’re _so_ going to pay for that!” Stiles smashed the lacrosse stick right across the faceless orb, the mesh catching on some facial features that he couldn’t see. The scooped top of the stick had snapped off from the force of the blow, so Stiles pulled back what was left and whipped it in the same area, distracting chain man long enough to get to Derek. Was he angry? Holy shit was he ever angry! That abomination of a humanoid had just hurt his lover – again, right in front of him. If that wasn’t a kick in the proverbial balls, he didn’t know what was. He watched Chain-man scratching at his non-face, as if trying to remove something from his nonexistent eye. Keeping his guard up, Stiles crouched down by Derek. He gently stroked his hand over the back of his wolf’s neck, frowning at the reddish marks that chain man’s grip had left behind.

 

Having recovered after the removal of wooden shrapnel from his featureless face, Chain-man raised his arm to deliver the final blow to Derek’s trembling form.

 

Without thinking, Stiles covered Derek’s body with his own and glared daggers of venomous hatred up at Chain-man, his bottom lip quivering with rage. He held the stick at the ready, preparing to block whatever was thrown at him, but fully prepared to take any amount of pain in order to protect the man he loved.

 

The chain came down hard against the door, missing Stiles’ face by a mere millimeter when he pressed down onto Derek to escape being ripped apart by it. But, as it was pulled back, it clipped Stiles’ index and middle finger on his right hand, wrenching a howl of pain from him.

 

Suddenly, an explosive shattering of glass sent Stiles falling on top of Derek, not understanding what was happening. He buried his face in Derek’s shoulder and pressed the wolf’s head down, trying to shield him from another lashing. But the sound of breaking glass hadn’t come from Chain-man, it had come from a feral alpha wolf crashing through the still closed window. Stiles looked up at Scott, who was now crouched in front of them in all his glorious lycanism, and allowed himself to deflate a little. “There is a god,” he muttered, brushing his lips over Derek’s neck reassuringly.

 

Chain-man aimed his weapon of choice at Scott’s face without hesitation, foolishly assuming he was any match for the red-eyed alpha. Scott growled viciously and pushed off from the shards of glass at his feet, blocking the chain attack with his forearm. He leapt into the air and raked his sharp claws over flesh, tearing cotton, shredding denim, and spraying blood everywhere. He wasn’t the least bit squeamish about taking on a faceless enemy because Chain-man was just one more freak in a long line of beastiary freaks. Chain-man did get in a few blows, which Scott took in stride and returned with several times more power, gouging the sensitive juncture between neck and shoulder, the abdomen, and finally chain mans’ face. The harder Chain-man attacked, the harder Scott tore into him, shredding him up like a discount punching bag.

 

“Give… me… the… wolf…” Chain-man stuttered, sinking to his knees, before falling onto his face and bursting into a million little pieces all over Stiles’ recently vacuumed carpeting.

 

Nobody moved for a minute or two, and Scott didn’t relax his battle pose for another few minutes after Stiles had begun to stretch out his cramped body. “Is he dead?” Stiles asked hopefully. _Please let him be dead._

“If dead equals big chunks of dead guy all over the floor, then yes, I think he’s dead.”

 

Before Stiles could dry heave, he heard Derek choke beneath him, strangely having the same reaction. “You know desensitization breeds serial killers,” Stiles warned Scott as he swallowed down the reflexive need to vomit. He helped Derek sit up, avoiding looking at yet another excuse for either renovating or moving the hell out of Beacon Hills. “Derek, are you okay?”

 

Derek shook his head, trembling badly like he was going into shock. The physical injuries were bad enough, but to be completely helpless as a wolf who couldn’t shift probably made the pain ten times worse.

 

“Here. Let me.” Scott knelt down in front of Stiles and Derek and wrapped his clawed fingers around the beta’s wrist. Concentrating on absorbing the pain of others took little effort now, especially because he was a true alpha who was growing stronger by the day. “Stiles, are you okay?” Scott glanced at his best friend while alleviating as much of Derek’s discomfort as he could.

 

“Yeah… I think so… I just hurt my--.” Stiles raised his right hand to show Scott his two injured fingers… and squinted to find the damage. There was no blood, no marks, not even the tiniest sign of there having ever been an injury on either finger. “What the…?”

 

“That’s about the best I can do,” Scott said as he released Derek’s wrist and left the beta in Stiles’ care. “How did that monster get in?”

 

Stiles hugged his wolf, who seemed to be a little more stable after Scott had worked that alpha magic on him. But every few seconds, he would wiggle his fingers just to make sure that they weren’t going to start gushing blood or fall off at the tips. “That’s a good question,” Stiles said angrily. “One minute he wasn’t there, the next minute he was. More teleportation crap?”

 

“Is he really dead?” Derek asked, struggling to move but not getting far because everything ached. At least the pain had been reduced to a dull ache thanks to Scott. “These _creatures_ don’t just die that easily. No offense, Scott, but can you double check?”

 

“When you work up the strength to get up off the floor, try looking over your left shoulder,” Scott replied with just a hint of sarcasm. “If you think that’s going to put itself back together, we’re not crediting you with enough imagination.” He knelt down by the chain that was still on the carpeting, gingerly tracing it with one sharp claw. “Your claws are working again?”

 

“Huh? _My_ claws?” Derek asked in confusion, allowing Stiles to press a relieved kiss to his forehead in the presence of the alpha. But the alpha had more important things on his mind than Stiles getting all sentimental with Derek.

 

“No, Stiles’ claws,” Scott groaned. “Yes! _Your_ claws, Derek! Did you do this?” He picked up the chain for Derek to see the clean cut that had severed one of the metallic links straight through.

 

“No. I can’t extend my claws, or make my eyes glow, and I’m beginning to lose my howl. It must’ve broken off when you attacked him.”

 

“But I never clawed the chain…” Scott looked back at the broken link, and then over at Derek and Stiles.

 

 _I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! Stop looking at me!_ Stiles kept up the mantra in his mind, chanting it over and over again until he’d successfully calmed his heartbeat down to a mild gallop – slow enough to escape suspicion, but fast enough to avoid coming across as a sadist. There was still a mutilated dead body on the floor, after all. When Scott finally shrugged and left the room to check for more intruders, Stiles sank back against the door and kissed Derek again. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he breathed against his wolf’s cheek, too scared to be genuinely angry.

 

“I couldn’t let you take him on by yourself.” Derek closed his eyes tightly and willed his back to stop throbbing.

 

“Try to remember that I’m not the one who was injured the last time.” This time Stiles permitted some of his anger to seep into his voice. “I am getting sick and tired of watching you get kicked around, Derek. I’ve had it up to _here_!” Stiles made a cutting gesture above his head and glared out into the hallway while he began to grind his teeth.

 

After a moment, Scott reentered the room in human mode, his cell phone in his left hand down by his side. “I called Deaton. He’ll be over to identify the… body shrapnel – whatever – and in the meantime he said not to touch anything. Kira and Malia are also on their way and should be here shortly.”

 

“Uh… Scott?”

 

“Yeah, Stiles?”

 

“Why did you have to call Malia?” Stiles could practically feel Derek cringing whenever her name came up. His breakup with the were-coyote had left a few emotional incisions that needed to be stitched up, but he didn’t want to be performing mental surgery with his ex in front of his new flame.

 

“Because she’s a powerful member of the pack,” Scott unkindly reminded Stiles.

 

Of course Scott had never been dumped before, so he probably had no idea how awkward it was to be forced into a room with your former coyote and current wolf – at the same time. Someone was bound to get hurt. The best part was that Malia didn’t even know about Derek. In fact, aside from his dad and Scott, no one did. Stiles was so not looking forward to this pack meeting.  
  


* * *

  
Stiles’ driveway and the boulevard in front of it quickly became congested with a variety of vehicles as Deaton, Sheriff Stilinski, Malia, and then Kira, arrived one after the other. Derek had to wait for the doorbell to ring or for a key to turn in the lock to know that they had another visitor. His heightened olfactory senses were dulled to the point that he could only smell the sweat on Stiles and Kira’s minty chewing gum. He could no longer smell the unique scent that identified each individual in lieu of visual contact.

 

Everything was making him feel nervous as hell. The way Deaton clinically poked at him to make sure that he didn’t have any fractures from the way he had hit the door, Scott’s constant bickering with Kira over whose turn it was to pick up the next body part, and Malia’s soft snarling when she sniffed near Derek and found him marked by Stiles. That probably hadn’t been the most pleasant way to find out that your ex-boyfriend had already moved on. And Stiles… he was acting peculiar – just a tad stranger than he usually did, and Derek couldn’t figure out why.

 

“I would be able to give you a more accurate prognosis if I knew whether or not your powers were going to return,” Deaton said in that brisk manner of his. “Seeing as how I don’t, I would advise that you avoid being thrown into anymore walls and keep in mind that your bones are not as strong as they used to be. That doppelganger could have easily snapped your neck with the way he grabbed you.”

 

“Is that what it’s called?” Stiles snickered. “A _doppelganger_? How original. So why didn’t it have a face? It had one last night.”

 

“The one you faced last night was probably a separate entity. These doppelgangers travel in groups. If they find someone who interests them, they kill the original and take his or her identity, as well as the face attached to it.”

 

“That’s sick,” Malia commented, her eyes showing emotion but her tone as flat as an instrument out of tune. “They actually peel off the face and reattach it to their own?”

 

“Malia!” Stiles hissed. “Bring it back down to PG-13.”

 

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

 

“No. They kind of ingest the face and other physical attributes, make a carbon copy of them, and integrate them into their own structure.”

 

“Oh good. Ingesting faces. _Much_ better,” Stiles muttered.

 

Derek sat up on Stiles’ bed to join in on the conversation, and blushed when six sets of eyes began to focus on his naked torso. Grabbing Stiles’ pillow and holding it in front of his chest as a barrier against the illicit stares, Derek addressed Deaton. “So the doppelgangers want to copy me?”

 

“Not exactly.” Deaton fidgeted and acted like answering the question would be a breach of etiquette or something.

 

“Then what do they want with him?” Scott asked. “We kind of need to know if we’re going to be able to protect him, Stiles, and Stiles’ dad.”

 

“Hey, Scott, I’m the sheriff, remember? I don’t need anyone protecting me,” Stilinski said in annoyance.

 

“I think this is something I need to discuss with Derek alone.”

 

“I think that if we are going to be risking our lives for him, we need to know the reason why,” Kira said sagely. “Not knowing our enemy’s motives will only make our jobs that much harder.”

 

“Derek?”

 

What was so secretive that Deaton couldn’t just come out and say it? Derek tried to think of anything that he knew of that might incriminate or embarrass him but couldn’t come up with anything. Unless the doppelganger’s motives were of a sexual nature… Derek shuddered, his reaction drawing Stiles closer again. It was comforting to have Stiles hovering over him like that, but every time his lover touched him, Malia bared her teeth in warning. “I’m sure that whatever information you’re withholding will offer valuable insight – for everyone involved,” was the conclusion that Derek naturally came to.

 

Deaton sat down at the foot of the bed, looked over at Derek for a moment, and then frowned. “Well, I suppose it’s a non-issue anyway, considering your orientation,” he sighed. “The leader of the doppelgangers wants you because you’re a purebred werewolf. And because you’re Talia Hale’s son – the only werewolf in modern times who was able to transform completely into a wolf. If you continue to evolve as your mother had, you will eventually follow in her footsteps and become a full werewolf, able to shift at will.”

 

“That’s it?” Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. “So he wants Derek as a pet?”

 

“Stiles!” Offended, Derek shook off Stiles’ hand from his shoulder and glared up at where he was standing.

 

“No. He wants Derek for breeding purposes.”

 

 _What. The. Fuck?!_ Had Derek heard Deaton correctly?! Had he just said that the leader of the doppelgangers wanted to lure him into the shady world of paranormal sex trafficking?! _Wait a minute. Deaton said ‘he’._ “What do you mean ‘he’?” Derek asked, sounding much too hysterical to his own ears. “How does that even work?”

 

“Like I said before, it’s really a non-issue, Derek. Because you’re a purebred wolf, and one who came from a full werewolf, you have this slight genetic mutation that allows you to – how do I put this delicately? – give birth.”

 

There wasn’t one mouth in the room that could stay closed upon hearing that. Derek felt like joining the pile of body parts that Kira and Scott had dumped into a black plastic garbage bag by the window. Deaton had to have screwed up his facts. Derek was 100% male, and an anatomically correct one at that. He knew it, Stiles knew it. Deaton had to be aware of the genitalia he possessed. “No way!” Derek protested. “You’re out of your mind!”

 

Stilinski, who had been listening up until that point, narrowed his eyes at Deaton and added his own two cents to the argument. “You’ve got your facts screwed up on this one, Deaton. Everyone in this room can attest to the fact that Derek is a man. Right, Son?”

 

“Uh… hehe… yeah. Damn straight,” Stiles chuckled nervously, jerking back when Malia snarled at him.

 

“I didn’t say that Derek wasn’t a man. I just said that he can be impregnated. And anyway, I don’t see why this needs to be made into something bigger than it is. Aside from the current threat, Derek is entirely heterosexual, so the odds of him ever exercising that genetic mutation are zero anyhow.”

 

“Um… about that,” Stiles began, gripping Derek’s shoulder a little firmer than was necessary. “What would happen if, say, Derek were to have a… uh… _homosexual_ encounter?”

 

“Stiles!” Derek had felt physical pain of varying degrees before, but for some reason feeling shamefully embarrassed was a lot worse. He was still in denial about the whole genetic mutation thing. If his mother had known, wouldn’t she have told him? Or maybe she hadn’t bothered because no one could have predicted that he’d end up with Stiles – another man.

 

“Why do you even need to ask that question?” Deaton gave Stiles a condescending look, probably thinking that the question had been a joke.

 

“Because,” Stiles said pointedly, resorting to more frantic gesturing. “Derek and I… may have… and most likely will again…”

 

“Aww, for crying out loud, Stiles,” Stilinski bit out. “Just own up to your sins, like a real man would. I raised you better than this.”

 

“Fine. I slept with Derek,” Stiles blurted out.

 

For a moment, Deaton looked as if he wanted to laugh, which soon turned into a panicked, “You did _what?!_ Who was the dominant party?!”

 

“Okay. Everyone out!” Stiles began to make shooing gestures towards the door, mindful of the way Derek was hyperventilating on the bed beside him.

 

“That’s not very subtle.” Stilinski collapsed into the chair by Stiles’ desk and just gave Derek this really long, drawn-out, sympathetic look. “If there’s one thing you suck at, Stiles, it’s lying and subtlety.”

 

“Now who’s the one doing the oversharing?” Scott chimed in.

 

Would being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease have been less shocking or humiliating? Derek could think of a handful of ailments that he would gladly take over this… _curse_. He’d never considered having children because he was still too young and had yet to build a solid foundation in his life. And even if he had considered it, just a little, there had always been a woman involved in his child-bearing fantasies. Of all the horrors that he had dreaded being faced with, getting knocked up had never been one of them.

 

“I won’t ask you if you used protection, because I know that kids your age are intelligent enough to limit the risks involved in having sex. There are a number of factors that need to be taken into consideration, but the odds of Derek getting pregnant after one _incident_ is relatively low.”

 

 _Yeah, sure._ They were only _relatively low_ if Stiles had used a condom, which he hadn’t. Although the people in the room continued to discuss Derek like he wasn’t even there for the next few minutes, he didn’t hear a word of it. The only thing he could hear was the escalating pounding of his heartbeat, his rapid breathing, and the stupid voice in his head that kept whispering, _you should’ve asked him to wear a condom._ But Derek hadn’t been thinking of anything other than being with Stiles last night. He had trusted Stiles implicitly and the subject of safe sex had never crossed his mind.

 

Derek looked up, needing Stiles’ reassuring arms around him, but found that his lover was the only one who was missing from the room. When had he disappeared? Derek didn’t interrupt Deaton as he continued to preach on and on about the pros of contraceptives, and how teenagers or the unwed shouldn’t be engaging in sexual intercourse anyway. The man actually came out and said _sexual intercourse_ in front of Kira and Malia, at which point Malia offered up the fact that she was proudly _not_ a virgin. Stilinski didn’t react too well to that news. _Stiles?_ Gripping the pillow in front of his chest hard enough to ruin all the feathers inside, Derek searched the doorway in a mild panic. It was only when Scott caught his gaze that he was forced to take a deep breath and calm himself. Scott was looking at him intently, his facial expression a hell of a lot more serious than it usually was.

 

Despite no longer having his werewolf powers, Derek could almost hear the unspoken words that Scott was mentally whispering to him. _Relax. Breathe in and out. Don’t give into the panic._ So Scott did consider Derek to be a member of his pack, because the alpha would only guide a wolf that he felt responsible for. As helpful as Scott’s leadership was in such an emotionally turbulent situation, what Derek really needed was to have Stiles at his side.

 

* * *

 

 _Shit! Shit! Motherfucking shit!_ Stiles leaned over the upstairs bathroom sink, filled his cupped hands with water from the running tap and splashed it onto his face. He did it a few more times, making sure that the water was extra crispy _cold_. Because lukewarm or hot water wouldn’t have had the desired effect of knocking him back into reality. It also wouldn’t have cooled his reddened face, which he had gotten after hunching over the toilet bowl and losing everything in his stomach.

 

Now that his eyeballs were bloodshot and burning from the water he had accidentally gotten into them, Stiles fumbled for his toothbrush and toothpaste in desperation. He had to get back to the bedroom to see to Derek. He couldn’t stay in here and sulk over how life just kept opening its revolving doors in the middle of a deserted wasteland for him. And yet…

 

“Stiles!”

 

The sound of Scott knocking on the door startled Stiles into blinking his eyes back into focus as he stared into the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, foaming at the mouth with toothpaste, his eyes carrying this haunted look of pain.

 

“Yeah?” He mumbled around the toothbrush in his mouth.

 

“Are you okay in there?”

 

“Almost.”  


“Well, could you maybe speed it up? It wasn’t cool the way you left Derek there by himself.”

 

 _Seriously?!_ The mildly soft-headed Scott was giving him dating advice?! This coming from the same guy who tore condoms and texted his best friend about it instead of buying his girlfriend a home pregnancy test. And since when was Scott the calm, rational type? That guy panicked over breaking the lead in his pencil during a pop quiz, so who was he to judge?

 

“Coming,” Stiles called out instead after he’d rinsed his mouth out with water, feeling a lot fresher now, but still so absolutely screwed. What the hell had he been thinking? He had a drawer full of condoms and that drawer was not that difficult to find. It was only the same one the lube had come out of, after all. He had always been careful with Malia, so why had Derek been different? Mainly because being with Malia had turned into a sort of routine, while coaxing Derek into his bed had been something akin to a lifelong goal for him. Once he’d accomplished it, nothing else had mattered. _Calm down, Stiles. Your sperm is probably faulty, just like your aim on the lacrosse field. Nothing to worry about. No need to worry._

 

“Stiles!” Scott pounded on the door again. “Get out before I come in there after you.”

 

Stiles glared at his image in the mirror, trying to see inside his own eyes. They were still that same amber-brown that they’d always been. His hair was also the same dark brown that it would stay until the grey hairs provoked by stress took over. His skin was… still too damn _red_. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his mouth, and thankfully nothing crawling around in his belly. No lingering evidence of the Nokitsune. That evil creature was long gone, reduced to nothing but a nightmare in Stiles’ long-term memory. But what the hell had cut through that chain? And why were his fingers still intact after having been whipped with it?

 

“STILES!” This time Scott’s voice deepened into a threatening growl.

 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Stiles yanked the door open to give Scott his dirtiest look ever, but ended up yelping when he was shoved up against the wall in the hallway.

 

“Go and look after _your_ wolf,” Scott growled angrily, thinking that Stiles had bailed on Derek for cowardly reasons. Because it was impossible for Scott not to have realized that Stiles had hypocritically not used protection when all his telltale signs were going off. But Scott didn’t suspect that his best friend was dealing with something a little darker on top of the shocking revelation that Derek might be pregnant. Something that might require an exorcism or unbreakable restraints.

 

“Well, if this isn’t a role reversal,” Stiles spat out, furious at Scott for manhandling him in his own house. “Since when do you care about what happens to Derek?!”

 

“Since he became powerless and I had to accept him into my pack!”

 

“Well it’s about time,” Stiles grumbled, pushing Scott out of his way to return to Derek. By the time he got back to his bedroom, the only two people left in it were his dad and Derek. Amazingly, his dad was sitting right beside Derek with one arm around his shoulders, telling him that everything was going to be alright. Now that was a sight he never would have imagined he’d see. “Sorry,” Stiles began as he entered the room. “I had some problems with my stomach. What did I miss?”

 

Stilinski looked up, regarding Stiles with judging eyes and a deep set frown. “Deaton said that Scott will be able to detect a change in Derek’s scent within ten days… _if_ he is pregnant. But he says that you shouldn’t worry because a condom would have prevented that. The funny thing is, Derek here won’t tell me whether or not you used one, but I think I can kind of draw my own conclusions from your stomach problems.”

 

“Dad…” Stiles hung his head in shame, wanting to go to Derek, but sensing that his dad wasn’t about to move just yet.

 

“Oh, and Deaton did add one little detail. He said that Derek is still capable of getting pregnant even without his wolf powers, but that he wouldn’t survive long enough to carry the child to term in his human state. So the next time your hormones try to get in the way of your brain, you’d better make sure you play it safe.”

 

Stiles didn’t know what blew his mind more – his dad openly accepting Derek’s baffling genetic mutation, or the humiliating lecture on safe sex in front of his wolf.

 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss this alone.” Stilinski released Derek and stood up, about to leave the room when he remembered something. “You’ll probably be wanting this outside the door.” He hefted the garbage bag over his shoulder, looking like a crazy Santa Claus carrying a sack full of body parts, and pulled the door closed on his way out.

 

The second the door snapped shut, Stiles wrapped his wolf up in a big hug and kissed him soundly. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized emphatically. “I didn’t just leave you. I was honestly throwing up in the washroom.”

 

At that, Derek bristled all over and tried to pull away. “Why? Because you’re disgusted to be with a man who has the freakish _gift_ – that’s what Deaton called it – to create children?”

 

“No,” Stiles said firmly. “I just had a bit too much visual stimuli today and needed to purge it.” He sighed and stroked the side of Derek’s face, holding him still so that he could gaze into those big sea-green angst-ridden eyes. “I told you that I loved you yesterday and nothing is going to change the way I feel. Okay, so maybe learning that you’ve got a womb inside of you is a bit much to take in, but it’s not like it grosses me out or anything. And who knows, maybe a few years down the road we’ll be at a stage in our lives where we’ll want children. Like _many_ years into the far distant future. But at least now we have the option, right?” Stiles caught a rogue tear that escaped from Derek’s lowered eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. “We’re just going to have to be careful from now on. But don’t worry because I’ve got enough condoms to last the month!”

 

Derek blinked at Stiles and sniffled, before raising his eyebrows in question when his lover’s hand began to stroke his abdomen. “Stiles, that isn’t making me feel any better.”

 

“With a set of abs like these, there’s no way you can be pregnant,” Stiles exclaimed with a forced grin. “You know what you need?”

 

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

 

Stiles gently pushed Derek down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and placing his hands down on either side of the wolf’s head. “You need some sexy time with me so you can purr away your troubles.”

 

“Again with the purring,” Derek sighed, resigned to his fate. It was useless to argue with Stiles or deny him anything. Stiles couldn’t be talked out of anything and Derek didn’t have the resolve to stop him.

 

“You are a sexy wolf,” Stiles breathed into Derek’s ear, making him shiver all over. “With or without your powers.” Having said that, Stiles began to kiss his wolf, mindful to keep things very tame due to the other guests in the house.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell do you mean there’s a 90% chance Derek is pregnant?!” Stilinski’s savage tone tore into Deaton as his hands snapped the disposable chopsticks that he’d been holding in half. Someone had been courteous enough to bring over some pseudo Chinese/Japanese takeout to feed Stilinski’s hungry house guests. It definitely hadn’t been Malia because she didn’t have a job or any savings. If Deaton had brought anything other than dog food, Stilinski would have been surprised. And Scott was a major cheapskate. That only left one person. “Thanks for going out of your way to pick up some food,” he said kindly to Kira while he waited for Deaton to respond. Now there was a girl who had flourished under the guidance of her parental figures.

 

Deaton gripped the edge of the kitchen table – the only indication that he was even mildly perturbed – and spoke patronizingly slow for Stilinski to follow. “I think that the statement is self explanatory. During the two days before and after a full moon, a werewolf is extremely fertile, and Derek is no exception. Maybe Scott is the only other person aware of this, but the full moon is tomorrow. The full moon itself would have brought the odds up to 99.99%, so thankfully we have that 10% of leeway to work with.”

 

“I really don’t understand why all of you are acting so judgmental about this,” Kira broke in. “If Stiles had done this with a female, instead of a male, would you still be coming down this hard on him?”

 

“ _YES!!_ ” Deaton and Stilinski barked out at the same time.

 

“Stiles always covered his penis when we were having intercourse,” Malia offered blandly with a shrug of her shoulders.

 

“Good Lord!” Stilinski gasped. “Malia, for the love of God, please, please, _please_ think before you speak!”

 

“I did think about it,” she said calmly. “And then I said it.”

 

“How many more of these doppelgangers are we going to have to deal with?” Scott asked.

 

“It could be anywhere from ten to thirty. The maximum number of any doppelganger group is always thirty,” Deaton replied.

 

“What happens if they go over thirty?”

 

“They start to ingest each other.”

 

Scott and Kira looked revolted while Malia’s expression remained unchanged.

 

“So, Stiles killed one – who the hell knows how he pulled that off – and I killed another. That leaves…,” Scott paused.

 

“Twenty-eight,” Kira swiftly came to Scott’s rescue.

 

“The one I fought was awfully easy to kill. So all we need to do is keep them away from Derek until we reach zero, and then take out the leader,” Scott concluded.

 

“These ones may have been easy to kill but the next might not be. The one Stiles described had a human face, so it’s safe to assume that he also had human attributes. The one you fought hadn’t chosen a copy subject so it was not as powerful as it could have been. What you really have to worry about is if one of the doppelgangers pick a werewolf or a banshee to copy.”

 

“Kira, call Lydia and have her come over here,” Scott said quickly.

 

When Stilinski had first met Derek, having dragged him down to the police station on murder charges, he’d felt sorry for him. Derek hadn’t seemed like the murdering type, even after the tragic loss of his whole family to the fire that Kate Argent had set. Once all the misinformation had been cleared up, he’d grown used to seeing the young man around Stiles and Scott. Derek always appeared so calm and focused, but deadly quiet. You couldn’t get him to talk even if you pried open his mouth with a can opener. He only spoke when he felt it necessary and only said what he felt was important. But after a few months had passed and Stilinski had really begun to pay attention to the way his son was interacting with Derek, he’d caught onto something _extra_. The extra long looks Stiles would give Derek, or the way Stiles’ hand would linger for an extra long time on Derek’s arm. And his son talked about nothing but Derek. It was always _Derek did this_ , or _Derek said that_. Had Stilinski been shocked to find Derek in his kitchen after an unplanned sleepover? No, not really.

 

And now here he was worrying about Derek because Stiles may have made a mistake that no one could fix for him. What would they do if Derek did turn out to be pregnant? And what if he couldn’t get his werewolf powers back? What then?

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Kira said politely, her dark almond eyes watching him in sympathy. “Your phone is ringing.”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t have time for it now.”

 

“But it says ‘work’.”

 

Stilinski picked up his cell phone and silenced it. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as terrifying as a group of faceless monsters going after my son’s boyfriend.”

 

“So how are we going to do this?” Scott asked, trying to take charge again. “We need a plan to keep Derek safe.”

 

“I suggest that several of you remain with him at all times and stay close. The doppelgangers can teleport into the general vicinity of their targets but can’t pinpoint their exact location – unless they get lucky. In the meantime, I’m going to have to do some follow-up research on Derek’s unique condition to see if I can’t offer any further advice.” Deaton abruptly stood up, leaving his plateful of noodles untouched, and saw himself to the door.

 

Stilinski watched Deaton leave and wondered if there would ever be a time when the werewolf doctor/veterinarian chose to get involved in the really tough part of the fight, because Deaton seemed to be perfectly content to watch the bloodshed from the sidelines.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Derek woke up to the unsettling feeling of being watched. He patted down the spot beside him only to find the sheets warm and rumpled, indicating that it had been recently vacated. He opened his eyes a crack and literally forgot to breathe when he noticed the dark shadow that was looming over him. When he realized who the owner of that unwelcome shadow was, he shot across to the other side of the bed in shock.

 

“Morning,” Malia greeted sterilely, as she had been taught to do when encountering people she knew between the hours of 7:00 and 12:00. She’d been practicing lately, so the lag between the blank stare she gave people and the actual _morning_ verbal greeting was beginning to get shorter. Still not anywhere near the pleasant tone that Stilinski would have preferred to hear, but at least it no longer sounded like she wanted to feast on blood at the break of dawn. She had been sitting on the bed beside Derek, staring at him mindlessly as he slept, and had been quite eager to speak to him when he’d awoken. Perhaps she could have stayed in the chair that Stiles had indicated in one corner of the room, but it hadn’t seemed liked a strategically wise vantage point.

 

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Derek gasped, clutching at his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

 

Malia mock pouted to express her confusion, having absolutely no reaction to Derek’s very visceral fright. “Stiles needed to pee. He told me to watch you _closely_. Why would me watching you give you a heart attack?”

 

Derek just stared at the pretty – but horribly maladjusted – brunette from where he cowered against the far wall. He couldn’t sense her intentions so he didn’t know if she was really looking out for him, or if she intended to gut him in his sleep. And every time he looked at her, he failed to see the teenage girl that she had become, instead envisioning a wild coyote with snapping jaws and clawed toes in the place of hands and feet.

 

“You smell like fear,” Malia said curiously, tilting her head to follow the way Derek cautiously made his way to the far end of the bed. “What are you afraid of?”

 

“I’d rather not say,” Derek replied reservedly, preparing to make a break for the open door. What had Stiles been thinking?! To leave him defenseless and vulnerable in the same room as his jilted ex?

 

“You’re being stupid,” Malia said in that same quick and unaffected tone that she always used when she was reverting back to her coyote way of thinking. “You think that I want to eat you.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“There is that possibility…”

 

“Why would you think that I want to eat you?” The brunette looked puzzled by Derek’s half-admission, her dark hazel eyes combing over the startled wolf from head to toe. “Oh. I see.” While a normal human might have inserted a touch of surprise into those three words, Malia left them intentionally flat. She climbed onto the bed beside Derek, not caring that she was making him more uncomfortable. Or not comprehending the relationship between action and reaction. Her long locks of brown hair were messy from a lack of brushing, and she wore a simple sports bra under her oversized scoop necked sweater, which was made clearly visible as she crawled over to Derek on all fours. “You thought that I was snarling at you last night.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

 

“You weren’t?” Derek asked, trying not to sound so timid. But being powerless on one end of the bed while a she-coyote was crawling around next to him didn’t exactly make him feel safe. Besides, he had a really negative history when it came to powerful women backstabbing him.

 

“No. I wasn’t. We’re cousins, Derek. I don’t snarl at blood relations. I was snarling at Stiles.”

 

“Is it okay if I ask _why_ you were snarling at Stiles?”

 

“No. But I’ll answer anyway. He was wearing my favorite plaid shirt, with _my_ scent all over it. And then he was using it to touch you. It’s wrong to mix scents like that. Very wrong.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Derek agreed, and if his sense of smell had still been functional, he would’ve growled at Stiles himself. Because not only was it wrong to mix scents, but it was particularly offensive when the two parties were related to each other. It was kind of like Stiles flaunting his sexual prowess to Derek, while personally insulting Malia. _Idiot!_ How had he managed to let himself be romanced by such a moron? “I’ll tell him to wash it.”

 

“Oh, no need. I already threw it in the garbage. Problem solved.”

 

“Uh… okay. That works too, I suppose.” When Malia pushed up against the wall to sit beside him, Derek forced himself to relax so as not to offend her. “What time did I fall asleep last night?”

 

“Before 11:30. Stiles said you were tired so we left you alone. Scott and Kira went back to your loft to get you your stuff.”

 

“Are they here now?”

 

“No. They left again to do some research, which was probably a load of bull. I could smell them. Scott reeked of arousal.”

 

“ _Malia_! Please keep your observations about private or sensitive topics to yourself. If it doesn’t concern me, I don’t need to know. Just tell me who is here now.”

 

“It’s just me, old man Stilinski, and Lydia. She makes funny noises in her sleep. It really bugs me.”

 

Derek sighed and felt a piece of his firm resolve not to give up on Malia die a little. “How do you know you don’t make funny noises in your sleep?”

 

“Stiles said that I shred things. No noises though.” Malia dropped her line of sight to Derek’s abdomen, staring at it fixedly as if he weren’t covered up completely in Stiles’ baggy navy blue pajamas. “Scott said your scent would change if Stiles successfully bred you.”

 

“Malia!” Derek said sharply. “I’m a _werewolf_ , not a dog at a puppy mill. The expression humans use is _to get someone pregnant._ So, it’s better for you to say that Stiles got me pregnant. But he didn’t, so the health lesson ends here.”

 

“Breed. Get pregnant. What’s the difference? They both start in sex and end in a litter of pups.”

 

 _No way!_ A litter?! Was that even possible? Derek still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Stiles would have to wear a condom every time he so much as rubbed up against him to prevent any unwanted pregnancies. Whether he was to be an incubator for human babies or wolf pups hadn’t been on his question list when Deaton had just dumped this altered reality on him. “Malia, give me your cell phone!”

 

“Who are you going to call at 7 a.m.?”

 

“Just give it to me!”

 

Malia passed her cell phone over with a shrug and surveyed the hallway anxiously. “Stiles is taking a long time. He must be constipated.”

 

Derek swore as he bit his tongue at Malia’s calm inference and tasted blood when he opened his mouth to speak to the person who answered the phone on the other end.

 

“Deaton! Babies or pups?!” Derek shouted anxiously into Malia’s cell phone. “No… Malia… I don’t think so…”

 

“What’s that fathead saying?” Malia asked, repeating what she’d heard Sheriff Stilinksi call Deaton after the veterinarian had headed home last night.

 

“He wants to know if my scent has changed.”

 

“No,” Malia replied without hesitation. “You still smell like Stiles.”

 

“No change,” Derek confirmed, listening to Deaton go on and on about prevention versus rectification. After more than five minutes of being introduced to the various forms of contraceptives available at the pharmacy, Derek lost his patience and repeated his original question. “When you said I could give birth, you meant human babies, right? Not wolf pups. What?... No… Yes, I took health class…. No, I don’t need a diagram… You know what? Screw you, Deaton!” Derek hung up the phone and sat there with the comforter clenched in his fists and glowered. “It was a simple question. He could’ve just said _babies_. Why does everything have to be a history lesson with that guy?”

 

“Because he likes to hear himself speak,” Malia said frankly. “I can tell.”

 

* * *

 

A little while later, Stiles found himself outside in the backyard, listening to the familiar sounds of the neighborhood. It was still fairly early in the afternoon and the sky was grey, but clear. A cool gust of wind rustled through the trees, whipping a handful of leaves loose, before moving onto the next tree and littering the ground with even more sacrifices. Fall was already here. Time to break out the sweaters and fashionable mid-season jackets.

 

Stiles found that he couldn’t stand to be cooped up in that house one moment longer, so he’d come outside to escape it. He felt like he was going stir crazy in there, listening to all the theories and speculation about Derek’s _condition_. Like his wolf had caught some incurable disease and needed to be quarantined, or put down. He was sick and tired of Deaton poking at Derek, and even more fed up with looking at Scott’s smug face. Why? Because Scott was probably relieved that he wasn’t the screw-up this time. No, this time the honors belonged to Stiles – the original advocate of everything condom related. _How sweet, the irony_ , Stiles thought bitterly to himself.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles glared sideways at Scott as the alpha wolf came out to stand beside him. “Have you come to share some more of your sanctimonious bullshit about how I should be looking after Derek?” Stiles said angrily as his attention was torn away from the trees surrounding the property and refocused on the cool-as-ice Scott McCall. The high and mighty alpha who he was seriously considering demoting from _best friend_ status to _unwanted preaching pain-in-the-ass._ Because the alpha had this sympathetic brotherly look to him, like he just couldn’t wait to offer a supportive shoulder to cry on. If Stiles had been in the crying mood, which he damn well wasn’t.

 

“I was just trying to look out for Derek last night when I said that,” Scott explained unapologetically. “I thought that’s what you wanted – for me to take Derek into my pack. And now that I’ve done it you’re all pissed off. Care to explain why?”

 

“Oh, so you’re not going to admit that inside you’re having a good laugh at all this? Like somewhere deep down inside you’re not getting a kick out of seeing my one night with Derek blow up in my face?”

 

Scott reeled back in shock at Stiles’ hostile attitude, hardly able to believe his ears. And who could blame him? Anyone who had grown up with Stiles could attest to the fact that the hyperactive kid with the busted up jeep and the self-esteem problems didn’t have it in him to put Scott in his place. But Scott wasn’t dealing with that kid anymore. Standing in front of him was a young man who had been through hell and back again, and had not walked away from the experience unscathed. Not only was Stiles a fractured memory of the kid he used to be, but now he was also a young man with a loved one to protect and care for – and worry about. And that worry was transforming into an uncontrollable anger, which was tapping into an endless well of repressed emotions and things that had been left unsaid – until now.

 

“Why would I want to see your relationship with Derek fail?” Scott asked in confusion.

 

“Good question! Why would you when you don’t even care in the first place?!” Stiles slammed the palm of his hand against one of the plastic chairs that was sitting on the back porch, hurtling it towards Scott. It felt good to see the alpha startled, moving aside to let the chair crash onto the porch instead of letting it hit him. “You’ve never cared about me or my feelings for Derek! If you had, you would have taken him into your pack long ago and he never would have been attacked in the first place,” Stiles shouted, his usually warm amber-brown eyes flickering to a shade of dark burnt umber as he began to dredge up the past with a vengeance. “Where were you when Derek was being attacked by the Kanima? Huh? You were screwing around with Allison, that’s where! And when Derek was shot with that silver-laced bullet and I kept texting you to _hurry it up_?! Again – with Allison. And two nights ago when Derek had some circus freak going all S and M on him with a pile of chains… _WHERE WERE YOU?!_ With Kira! Different partner – same old bullshit! _”_

 

Scott actually shrank back when Stiles advanced on him, not knowing what to do to extinguish, or at least calm, the acidic emotions that were boiling up inside his friend. He continued to stand there in denial when his best friend from elementary school – the spastic boy with the attention problems – wound up and punched him in the face – hard.

 

“Stiles… What the hell is wrong with you?” Scott pressed a hand to his bruised cheek, and shifted his weight forward, instinctively needing to smash Stiles’ face in to calm the indignant fury that was now flowing through his blood. It took all his self-control as an alpha to restrain himself, to not crack Stiles’ skull over the porch railing and be done with him. If it had been one of the other wolves who had hit him, he would have struck back twice as hard. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that Stiles wouldn’t heal if hit. Stiles wasn’t like him. Stiles could be killed.

 

“You know what they say about holding things in for too long. Sooner or later there’s going to be an explosion of biblical proportions,” Stiles ground out between his clenched teeth. “So you go ahead and try reminding me again about how I need to be looking after my wolf. See what it gets you,” he threatened.

 

For a moment, Scott wavered between staying to try to reason with Stiles and abandoning him to his hysterical mood swing. But only for a moment. Because Scott had better things to do with his time. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, it’s a good thing that Derek is _not_ pregnant. I don’t think he would be able to deal with the thought of having a child with you when you’re this unstable.” When Stiles looked shocked, Scott rubbed it in some more. “Yeah, that’s right, Stiles. Malia has checked his scent and I have checked his scent. Derek is not pregnant and giving off absolutely no signs of ever getting there. Deaton mentioned that it would take ten days for us to be absolutely certain. But that’s only if Derek’s scent was unclear or mixed with another scent.”

 

“What the hell do you know about wolf pregnancies?” Stiles demanded condescendingly.

 

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me? It should come as a relief to you that nothing is going to change your relationship with Derek. So maybe you can get off my back and stop blaming me for every little thing that happens to _your_ wolf.”

 

But as Scott started to walk away, Stiles laughed coldly at his retreating back. “Careful, Scott. I may not be a wolf but I can practically see the cloud of guilt hanging above your head. We’re not done with this. And, by the way, if you do the math, you owe Derek a hell of a lot more than just letting him into your wimpy pack. You wouldn’t be where you are now if it hadn’t been for Derek.” When a half-growl half-curse escaped Scott’s lips on his way back inside, Stiles just glared after him. “Yeah, _fuck you_ , too!”

 

And seconds later, Stilinski was pushing open the back door, making sure that it shut firmly behind him before he started in on his lecture. “Stiles, what the hell was _that_ about? I’ve never heard you speak to Scott like that before.”

 

“Oh, you could hear that?” Stiles asked breezily.

 

“Who couldn’t hear that? Why are you bringing up the past now? I’m sure that Scott feels bad enough as it is about his mistakes without you rubbing salt into the wound.”

 

“Did you hear him apologize? Because I sure as hell didn’t. That jackass thinks he can do no wrong. Scott McCall is such a _perfect_ alpha with the _perfect_ girlfriend, while the rest of us are nothing but his lapdogs.”

 

Stilinski looked uncomfortable as he held back a distance from Stiles, probably not wanting to be verbally attacked himself. “Is it true what Scott said? About Derek not being pregnant?”

 

“You know what, I don’t give a shit if Scott thinks he’s some superhero with those arrogant wolf powers of his. He can say whatever he wants about Derek, but he’s not the one who slept with him – I am. That wolf is _mine_ and _I_ will be the one to say whether he is or isn’t pregnant – not Scott.” Stiles gave his dad a bewildered _what-did-I-do_ look when Stilinski jerked back at the ferocity of his possessive statement.

 

“Son…”

 

“I’m going back inside to check on Derek.” Trying to avoid that bizarre questioning look, Stiles quickly moved towards the door while averting his eyes from his dad.

 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Stilinski meekly asked, obviously worried about getting on his son’s bad side. “I thought that you would be relieved to hear that Derek isn’t pregnant.”

 

“Well maybe I’m not. Maybe for half a second I actually got excited at the idea of a little half-breed wolf running around the house. But don’t mind me, I’m just an eighteen-year-old with emotional issues,” he bit off sarcastically before disappearing back into the house, and letting the screen door slam behind him.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the living room became incredibly tense as soon as Scott walked into it. Everyone, including Derek, had heard the altercation between Scott and Stiles, but nobody wanted to get involved. Derek thought it was rather odd to hear Stiles getting all overprotective of him to the point of hurling insults. And while he really would have preferred to see Scott and Stiles getting along, he decided that he didn’t quite mind the extra attention. It made him feel a little better than he had earlier on, because he had felt so sure that Stiles was ignoring him.

 

At the breakfast table, there hadn’t been any Stiles. Just the mismatched group of teenagers that Scott regularly associated with, plus Stilinski. Derek had caught Stiles in the bedroom briefly sometime before lunch, but then his lover had vanished again to another part of the house. And again after lunch. Each time Stiles had come to him, he’d been kind, warm, and reassuring. Whatever Stiles’ reasons were for staying away, they obviously had nothing to do with him, which made Derek feel less insecure, but no more relieved.

 

And now Deaton was back in the picture, blabbing on and on about how much he _didn’t_ know about male pregnancies. Because they were infinitesimally rare and there weren’t any actual documented cases of a werewolf carrying the child to term. So Derek had come to the conclusion that he had inherited a fatalistic mutation that would result in his death if it were to ever be activated. But not to worry because – according to Deaton – Derek wasn’t experiencing any known symptoms that would indicate he was at risk of becoming another statistic. Why would nature have screwed around with his perfectly normal body like that anyway? To dangle something so miraculous in front of his face and then crush it in a thirty minute rant of Deaton’s that ended in a melodramatic ‘ _and they all died’._  

 

Thankfully Kira and Lydia had gone grocery shopping – because some lazy ass had to with all these people raiding Stilinski’s pitifully understocked fridge and cupboards – so Derek’s claustrophobic reaction to everyone crowding around him and asking him if he was okay every ten minutes had dulled down a bit.

 

“Can you _please_ stop doing that?” And then there was the sniffing. The constant scenting that Scott and Malia took turns doing. Derek had finally taken offense to it and gone up to shower so that there would be nothing left for them to pick up on. He’d changed into a clean pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt and done his best to repel the other wolves with his stony expression of discomfort… which had done nothing except draw them closer. Because now they suspected that he was experiencing mood swings and were double checking to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

 

“Should we stop now?” Malia asked Deaton, while ignoring the withering glare that Derek gave her.

 

“Not for another eight days,” Deaton said in a tone that meant he wasn’t to be argued with because he knew what he was talking about. “Just to be sure.”

 

Derek pushed off of the sofa and away from Malia, giving Scott a dirty look when the alpha got in his way. “Do I need your permission to use the bathroom?” Derek asked sarcastically. “And no, I don’t feel dizzy, nauseated, or bloated. No strange cravings for peanut butter and ice cream sandwiches with pickles either. Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“Scott?” Deaton raised his eyebrows at the alpha, signaling that he expected Scott to go ahead and check Derek’s scent – again.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Derek muttered, holding still while Scott came within punching distance of him – and was that already a bruise on his cheek? – and allowed his eyes to glow alpha-red. And then the very subtle scenting began. Not a muscle in Scott’s face twitched as he circled around Derek, trying to detect anything out of the ordinary.

 

“Same as before. He smells like Stiles,” Scott said with a shrug, his eyes returning to their usual dark brown color.

 

At about that exact same time, Stiles entered the living room and brought with him a very testy attitude problem. “Get away from my wolf, Scott,” he warned angrily, as if he perceived Scott’s scenting to be an invasion of his territory.

 

“Stiles, he was just--.”

 

“I don’t care what he was doing,” Stiles cut Derek off. “I don’t want some shitty rival alpha sniffing anywhere near you.”

 

“Scott, could you kindly separate Derek from Stiles,” Deaton said suddenly.

 

“Huh? Why?”

 

Deaton was already cautiously backing away from Stiles and gesturing for Malia to do the same. “Don’t you find it odd that Derek would still continue to smell like Stiles when he hasn’t been in contact with him for the past two hours? And even after showering?” When Scott and Malia just looked confused, and Stiles pissed as hell, Deaton had no choice but to share what he was thinking with everyone else. “Can’t you see what is happening here? Stiles is masking Derek’s scent with his own. And that is something that Stiles shouldn’t be capable of doing. But a Nogitsune, on the other hand, would have no trouble pulling that off.”

 

“ _Nogitsune?”_ Derek gazed at Stiles in disbelief as Scott grabbed onto his arms, trying to pull him out of range of the crafty fox spirit that Deaton believed had possessed his lover. “He’s not--.” Derek began to protest, resisting Scott with all his strength, which wasn’t much compared to an alpha in battle-ready mode.

 

“Get back!” Scott ordered, yanking hard on Derek’s arm.

 

“I thought I told you to get your hands off of _my_ wolf!” The force of Stiles’ command shook the light fixture above their heads, caused the glass doors on the dish cabinet to splinter, and brought Stilinski rushing into the living room with his gun drawn.

 

“What on Earth?” Stilinski arrived just in time to watch his son sweep Derek to one side with a powerful thrust of his arm, while using the other to strike Scott so hard that the alpha was thrown across the room to hit the bookcase, bringing rows and rows of old novels toppling down on him.

 

Lying sprawled behind Stiles, Derek watched in a terrified fascination as his lover began to glow a golden umber color, before beginning to shift. Stiles’ ears extended upwards and grew fuzzy and pointed as tufts of brown fur crept along the outline of his cheeks and temples. Then his canines dropped down into sharp fangs and his nails elongated into black hooked claws. Derek was almost whacked in the face by a glowing reddish bushy tail that projected outwards from Stiles’ lower back. Not a real tail, but a spiritual representation of one.

 

“Defend yourself!” Stiles snarled at Derek, looking back at him with glowing alpha-red eyes.

 

Something in Stiles’ voice penetrated to the very core of Derek, triggering a latent power inside of him that unfurled outwards, enveloping him in a powerful blue glow. The pain in Derek’s back completely disappeared as his healing powers surged through his body, repairing any damage that had been done to him in the past few days. And then he began to shift without conscious effort, his claws extending to catch on the carpeting as his fangs gnashed together experimentally. The dark hair on his face grew thicker as his ears curved upwards and back, like a wolf’s. But it didn’t stop there. Derek fought to regain control as his transformation went beyond its usual limits. The fur continued to spread all over his body, growing thicker and longer. _What the fuck?!_ Derek turned his head to look behind him when he felt the swish of a tail brush up against the side of his body. When he realized that the tail in question belonged to him, he nearly hit the roof. He turned his head this way and that, lifting up his paws one by one to inspect them, before rubbing one along his furry muzzle.

 

“Good Lord,” Stilinski gasped, his reaction a cross between shock and horror. But whether he was freaking out over Derek becoming a full fledged ebony wolf, or Stiles going _Nogitsune_ on Scott, Derek really couldn’t tell.

 

A violent swoosh of air charged past Derek and the next second Scott was punching Stiles with enough force to send him flying over the sofa to bang none-too-softly into the window behind it. But Stiles didn’t go down. He recovered lightning quick to slash his claws across Scott’s chest when the alpha wolf tried to restrain him.

 

“Malia, get Derek!” Deaton shouted, perhaps concerned that Derek was going to follow Stiles’ lead and go rogue and start biting people at random.

 

But when Derek tried to bolt behind the sofa, only to be stopped by the feral she-coyote who blocked his path, Stilinski was the one who grabbed him. “I have the feeling that this may be for your own good, Derek,” he said as his arms latched onto Derek’s furry body.

 

Derek tried to snap his fangs at Stilinski, but was dragged clawing and growling from the room. And because he really hadn’t lost his mind, which seemed to be Stiles’ current problem, he couldn’t think of a good reason to actually bite or scratch up Stilinski’s face. He was taken out into the hallway and forced to lay on his belly with Stilinski’s heavy hand pressing down on his back to keep him still. Although he could no longer talk to express his discomfort, he discovered that all his heightened senses had returned to werewolf normal. That was another reason why he wasn’t fighting off Stilinski. For whatever reason, the man believed that he was protecting Derek by keeping him out of the room. And if it was for the reason that Derek suspected, then he completely agreed with the sheriff’s judgment. He couldn’t risk Scott or Stiles accidentally stepping on him, or throwing him into hard furniture, if there was even the remote possibility that he was pregnant.


	5. Chapter 5

“Aww, crap,” Kira exclaimed as soon as she’d thrown the car into park, turning around to survey the plastic shopping bags on the backseat.

 

“Now what?” Lydia asked in a horribly put-upon tone.

 

“We forgot the eggs.”

 

“No, _you_ forgot the eggs,” Lydia corrected her new BFF, while taking the time to flip open the mirror on the passenger’s side visor to check out her eyeliner. “The eggs weren’t on my half of the shopping list.”

 

“But you could have at least reminded me. Eggs are only, like, the most important – and essential – ingredient in any recipe.”

 

“If that’s true, then you shouldn’t have forgotten them,” Lydia lamented on in a singsong tone. “Oh, here comes Mrs. Harnett,” she said, waving to Stilinski’s batty middle-aged neighbor from next door. She was very familiar with the woman’s neighborly gossip, and psychiatric level paranoia, because she had to put up with listening to it every time she visited Stiles. If she didn’t get it on the way in, she got it on the way out. And, to her knowledge, there was no Mr. Harnett anywhere to be found. That was completely understandable. If Lydia were to ever marry anyone that irritating, she would up and walk out of the marriage herself.

 

“Maybe she has some eggs we can borrow,” Kira suggested hopefully.

 

“Kira, dear, you don’t _borrow_ eggs from your neighbors,” Lydia scolded in a patronizing tone. “Not unless you want them imposing on you the next time they run out of milk.”

 

“Uh… okay… I had no idea that you had those kinds of rules.” Not looking like she was about to take Lydia’s advice, Kira got out of the car to greet the tall thin lady with the long graying hair.

 

Lydia was about to just grab the groceries and go on into the house to save herself the embarrassment of listening to Kira beg the neighbor for eggs when she got the distinct feeling that something was not right. Something didn’t smell fresh, but that foul odor wasn’t coming from the produce sitting on the backseat. No, it was coming off of Mrs. Harnett, bathing her in waves of decay and the stench of death – a scent that only Lydia had the powers to detect. She was the harbinger of death, after all. _Oh no…_ _A doppelganger!_ Standing right in the middle of Stilinski’s driveway, talking to Kira, without a wolf in sight. She needed to call Scott and get him to come outside before… Was that a crack in the front window? “What now?” Had she just seen a body go flying past the curtains? What the hell was going on _inside_ the house?

 

Getting the feeling that nobody would be available to help them out right now, Lydia sprang out of the vehicle and subtly alerted Kira to the imminent danger she was in. “Kira, remember that problem we discussed earlier?”

 

“What problem was that?” Kira asked naively, already in the process of thanking a rather zoned out looking Mrs. Harnett for her generous offering of half a carton of eggs.

 

“The problem with the _faces_ ,” Lydia ground out between her teeth, losing all patience with Kira when she just stared blankly at her.

 

“The faces…? Oh. _Oh! Those_ faces!” And then Kira was backing away from Mrs. Harnett and taking up a fighting stance, leaving Lydia to run around to the side of the house in the search for something that she could use as a weapon. Something that would stop the face-eating monster that seemed to have already consumed the unfortunate Mrs. Harnett.

 

* * *

 

“Derek, you _really_ can’t go in there right now,” Stilinski grunted as he did his best to pin the ebony wolf down to the ground. But Derek was quite strong as a wolf, his powerful hind legs pushing up off of the floor, and his tail whipping up to strike Stilinski in the face. The wolf had been calm up until a few moments ago, until it had begun to look like Stiles might lose the battle against Scott. But as upsetting as that idea was for Stilinski, he couldn’t afford to let Derek run into the fray of things and risk injuring himself. If Stiles was angry now, he’d be murderously vindictive if anything happened to Derek. “Deaton said that Stiles was masking your scent. You know what that means.” Stilinski continued to try and reason with Derek, nearly pulling his arm back when the wolf turned back to snap and snarl at him. But he knew that Derek wouldn’t hurt him, so he kept his grip firm and impenetrable.

 

While Stilinski’s grip may have been pretty damn unbreakable, that didn’t stop Derek from lurching forward, and tossing his head to the left and right in an effort to throw the sheriff off, which ultimately led to a dusting of dark wolf hairs all over Stilinski’s face.

 

“Damn it!” Stilinski coughed, blowing at a few clumps of airborne ebony fur that tried to make their way into his mouth. “You’d better damn well believe you’re going to be vacuuming this up later.”

 

Inside the living room the battle raged on. Deaton and Malia had taken shelter behind the sofa closest to the door, mainly because Stiles kept throwing Scott into the one in front of the window. Things had looked to be pretty evenly matched until Stiles got thrown into the TV set. Not wanting to be outdone, a few seconds later, Stiles rammed Scott face first into the wall, creating a new hole that would later need to be patched up.

 

There was no way Stilinski’s home insurance would pay for damages caused by a werewolf versus a nogitsune. No way in hell. Maybe he could call them up and fib a little, tell them that a moose had wandered in through the back door, ploughed through the wall, and smashed into the TV set. But how was he going to explain the bite and claw marks all over the furniture?

 

When it began to look like Stiles was tiring, Scott grabbed him by the shoulders and pounded him onto the floor, knocking his head down twice to make sure that he would stay down. Then, growling in extreme displeasure, he dropped Stiles and left him lying there. Which proved to be a terrible mistake.

 

As soon as Scott’s back was turned, Stiles pushed himself up off of the floor, glared at his former friend with his glowing alpha-red eyes, and shouted something in Japanese, calling upon the arcane mysticism that he now had access to in order to boost his physical attack.

 

“ _Honou no yaiba!_ ” No sooner had the foreign words left Stiles' mouth than his spiritual tail was stiffening up into a flaming blade. A blade that Stiles grasped with his hands, separating it from the actual tail, and whacked Scott between the shoulders with. When Scott stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance – and probably wondering what the fuck had hit him – Stiles raised the sword high above his head and brought it down swiftly on the alpha wolf’s head. Luckily for Scott, Stiles used the flat end of the sword instead of the sharp, flaming edge.

 

Stilinski watched and waited for Scott to get back up, dreading what would happen when he did. But the alpha werewolf seemed to be down for the count, automatically transforming back now that he was no longer conscious. Apparently a werewolf needed to remain conscious in order to hold onto their transformed state.

 

Sometime during the materialization of the terrifying flaming blade that Stiles had wielded with masterful precision, Kira and Lydia had appeared behind Stilinski, looking quite disheveled and shaken up, but apparently not by the alpha showdown that had torn apart his living room. Kira looked like she had dunked herself into a bird bath of blood, while Lydia’s makeup was all streaks and smudges, and the hem of her skirt had a mighty big rip in it.

 

“What on earth happened to you two?” Stilinski asked, splitting his attention between his possessed son and the traumatized looking girls behind him. And of course, in the confusion, he inadvertently lost his grip on Derek. “Shit! Derek, get back here!” He ordered as soon as he felt that furry body slip between his arms and go charging into the living room.

 

Derek wasn’t the only one who suddenly came to life now that the battle had ended. Malia snarled at Stiles, her blue eyes glowing threateningly at him as she prepared to slash at his throat.

 

“Malia! Wait!” Deaton shouted, rushing forward to wrap his arms around the she-coyote in an attempt to keep her immobile.

 

“Ugh! Get your hands off of me, you fathead,” Malia growled, ramming one of her pointy elbows into the veterinarian’s gut. That was all it took to get Deaton to back off, but his gross intervention had prevented her from cutting up Stiles before he’d had a chance to change back to his normal human self. “Stiles?” She asked suspiciously.

 

“Yeah, more or less,” Stiles said with a shrug. But as soon as he caught sight of that ebony wolf bounding for him, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin, which turned into a joyous bout of laughter when Derek flew into his arms. “Well, look at you,” he exclaimed lightly. “You’re all furry and… _pfft_ … Derek, watch the tail,” he sputtered, hugging the wolf with one arm while pulling furry hairs off of his lips with his opposite hand.

 

Stilinski cautiously entered the room, observing his son’s interaction with Derek in bewilderment. There wasn’t a trace of animosity or magic lingering in either Stiles’ eyes or his voice. He was back to being the carefree son that he knew so well. The young man who was very much in love with Derek, or what had become of Derek.

 

“Stiles…?” Stilinski asked carefully, acknowledging Kira out of the corner of his eye as she raced over to the sofa to check on Scott.

 

“Oh, right,” was all Stiles said, sounding a bit faraway again. He had been on his knees, hugging his wolf, practically wrestling with him on the carpet in what looked to be nothing but horseplay. But he became serious again as he moved back a bit and focused his eyes on Derek – eyes that momentarily turned red again. “ _Modore_!” He commanded in Japanese, shrugging out of one of his many plaid shirts as the wolf began to change back to Derek. A very naked Derek.

 

“Good Lord,” slipped out of Stilinski’s mouth before he could hold it in. There was just no end to the madness, was there?

 

“Oh my…,” Kira began, covered her mouth, tried to open it again, but ended up just gaping.

 

“Kira, it isn’t polite to ogle men’s private parts,” Lydia sternly told off her rather prudish friend, but not before she gave Derek a very keen visual inspection of her own.

 

Thankfully the only vital body part that either Lydia or Kira managed to see was Derek’s nicely toned ass, because Stiles got his wolf covered up before the real porn show began. Deaton and Malia were on the opposite side of the room, so they probably hadn’t been able to see much. And Stilinski, being the saint that he was, had politely averted his eyes.

 

“Stiles, can you _please_ get me something that covers more than just my ass?” Derek pleaded, keeping his face buried in his folded arms because he couldn’t bear to face the other people in the room looking like the last performance of a strip show.

 

“Would anyone be kind enough to explain to me while Stiles and Scott were fighting?” Kira asked. “And why Stiles looked like a fox on fire?”

 

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Stiles said wisely in his usual sarcastic tone. “Don’t keep things bottled up for too long. It really does a number on your mental health.”

 

“Stiles, be serious.” Stilinski had shirked off his sheriff’s jacket and used it to cover up the rest of Derek, while keeping his stern gaze leveled on his son. “Don’t you think that you took things a little too far?”

 

“Did I take things too far?” Stiles repeated in a pretend thinking voice. “No. I don’t think that I did.”

 

“Deaton!” Stilinski barked accusingly. “Either you explain what the hell just happened or I’ll kick your useless ass out of my house.”

 

“Why am I getting blamed for your son’s outburst?” Deaton complained. “Okay, so I may have jumped the gun on the nogitsune theory, but I only had Stiles’ heightened state of aggression to go on at the time.”

 

“I could have told you that he wasn’t nogitsune,” Derek sharply cut in before Deaton could say anything else. “But you people were too busy separating us to pay attention to anything that I had to say.” He discreetly hid behind Stiles while he pulled on Stilinski’s jacket, zipped it up, and then wrapped the plaid shirt around his hips. By the time he was finished, he looked quite comical in his scavenged outfit.

 

Stilinski was on the verge of reminding Derek that he hadn’t been in the proper form to have been capable of saying anything, but thought that it would be better to just keep his mouth shut. He wanted to give Deaton a chance to explain what had taken over his son, before he beat the information out of him. The last incident with a fox had left Stiles with more psychological damage than anyone knew how to diagnose – or fix – and Stilinski would be damned if he sat back and let another fox shred up what was left of his son’s innocence.

 

By the time Deaton switched to his storytelling persona, Scott had just regained consciousness and was radiating with resentment and betrayal. But he kept it under control as he stormed past Stiles, pausing for just a second to bark out, “Your wolf’s pregnant.” And then he was gone, and Kira was chasing after him, still trying in vain to wipe her bloody hands off on her miniskirt.

 

“Yeah, _my_ wolf, _my_ pack,” Stiles shot after him.

 

“Deaton!” Stilinski urged again, before Stiles and Scott decided to go for round two in the hallway.

 

“Judging by the way Stiles presented himself, I’d say that he is most likely a tenko – an evolved celestial kitsune that carries with it the experience of a 1000-year-old life. If he had been anything other than a tenko, he would have been defeated by Scott, or… murdered Scott in cold blood.”

 

“That’s not particularly reassuring.” Rubbing his hands over his face, Stilinski watched Stiles with Derek, noting how his son was now behaving like a civilized human being. If being civilized involved stroking Derek’s belly and gazing fondly into his wolf’s eyes like a love-struck puppy.

 

“All I was trying to point out was that a lesser kitsune wouldn’t have had the power, or experience, to defeat an alpha wolf. And a nogitsune wouldn’t have been able to draw the line between defeat and death. As for Stiles’ aggression, now that we know that Derek is indeed pregnant – since Stiles lost the ability to mask his scent while he was concentrating on fighting Scott – we now have a reason for his uncontrollable anger. He was merely doing whatever he felt was necessary in order to protect his mate and unborn child.”

 

“Don’t forget to add the word _instinctively_ because I didn’t actually know that Derek was pregnant,” Stiles confessed. “But isn’t that neat? I can now mask scents and turn into a fox – an _alpha_ fox.”

 

“You probably retained some of the nogitsune’s untainted powers when you were separated from it, and the bond you formed with Derek served as the catalyst for your evolution into a tenko.”

 

“Is this tenko evolution temporary or permanent?” Stilinski asked.

 

“It’s basically the same as when one becomes a werewolf. There is no way of separating the wolf from the man. Similarly, there is no known method of removing the tenko without killing the host,” Deaton explained.

 

“You know, this is all fascinating stuff, and I’d love to stay and listen to how awesome I am, but I think I’m going to take Derek upstairs for a change of clothes.”

 

“Stiles, where are the clothes that I was wearing?”

 

“Scott tore them up because my scent was all over them. That was after I punched him in the nose, so I guess that we’re even now.”

 

Derek looked unconvinced but followed Stiles out of the room anyway.

 

“Stiles, I think that you should…” Too late. Stiles was already halfway up the stairs before Stilinski could demand that he stay and listen to the rest of what Deaton knew about the tenko kitsune.

 

* * *

 

Outside in the backyard, Kira hovered around uselessly as Scott paced around the garden, kicking through piles of leaves and just grimacing to himself. She didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with boys and their complicated feuds, so she had no desire to get involved in what was going on between her boyfriend and his best friend. Knowing her track record with the people she tried to ‘help’, Scott and Stiles would be better off if she kept her mouth shut.

 

“So… Lydia and I defeated a doppelganger in front of the house. Well, actually it was more like in front of my car, but same difference.” That ought to get his attention.

 

“ _What?!”_ Scott came to a dead stop and whirled around to stare at her. “Why didn’t you call me? Are you okay?” Then he seemed to finally notice the blood that she was covered with. “Whose blood are you covered in?” Sometimes Scott could be so vapid.

 

“Lydia saw the commotion through the living room window and thought that you wouldn’t have been very helpful at the time. Yes, I think so. And, not mine.”

 

“Then whose?”

 

“Stiles’ neighbor. That woman in her early fifties with the really dry looking hair.”

 

“How did you defeat her on your own?”

 

“You know that flag that sticks up on top of the mailbox when the mailman puts letters inside?” Now _that_ had made a really convenient – and lethal – weapon. It had been just long enough to pierce the heart, but getting the neighbor to stay still in order for her to do so had taken some doing. “After Lydia had started to strangle her with the garden hose, I knocked her around a bit before stabbing her with it. But it was really horrible, Scott. Until she started to die, and lose her face, she looked perfectly normal.”

 

“Mrs. Harnett wasn’t what I could call _perfectly normal_ ,” Scott sighed. “Are you sure she’s dead?”

 

“All one million pieces of her are scattered on the driveway, if you want to go out and check,” Kira challenged, thinking that maybe Scott didn’t believe that she’d been able to destroy the creature without his help. Although she was still getting the hang of fighting hideous monsters, and sleeping with a werewolf, she thought that she hadn’t done too bad. And Lydia had come in handy, too. The perfectly composed, self appointed fashion queen might act all vacant and shallow on the outside, but was actually quite fierce and unflappable on the inside. Now _that_ was an ally that Kira knew she could trust and rely on.

 

“Okay… good. Good job,” Scott praised awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’m still a bit off after that fight with Stiles.”

 

“Because he won?”

 

“No, because we’ve never fought before, like ever. We’ve had a few minor arguments, but that’s it. I never knew that he was so angry inside.”

 

“Are you going to make up and be friends again?”

 

That innocent suggestion raised Scott’s hackles again, drawing a bitter response from him. “Not unless he apologizes.”

 

“Oh… okay. But if he doesn’t apologize, isn’t that going to make it difficult to work together with him to protect Derek? I mean, you did say that Derek was pregnant, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, as freakishly impossible as that should be, Derek can’t be anything other than pregnant. Not with a distorted scent like that. I’m amazed that Stiles was able to cover it up for so long. But – shock number two – Stiles is now some kind of kitsune, like you, with alpha powers. Yesterday I thought that Derek was just overdoing the hero worshipping by calling Stiles his alpha. But he had meant it literally.”

 

“So… maybe you offended Stiles when you took Derek into your pack,” Kira mused. Because one alpha inserting another alpha’s mate into his pack without asking for permission first could definitely be interpreted in the wrong way.

 

“You weren’t here when Stiles started accusing me of all this stuff from the past. If anyone has any right to feel offended, it’s me. So I’m going to stay here to protect Derek because it’s the right thing to do. But don’t expect me to make an effort to speak to Stiles, unless he apologizes to me first.”

 

“Okay, okay. Calm down. You don’t have to bite my head off.” Well, that could have gone better. The next time anyone wanted to vent about a personal problem, Kira was going to get as far away from them as possible. She just wasn’t any good at listening, calming people down, or trying to reverse stubborn behavior.

 

* * *

 

“Nooo way. It’ll be a cold day in Jack Frost’s hell before I apologize to that high and mighty asshole,” Stiles ground out as he sat on the bed and watched Derek get dressed. “He should be begging you for his forgiveness and kissing my ass for the way he downplayed my importance all these years. Just because I may have given him a concussion doesn’t suddenly wipe the slate clean. How many times did he put you in harm’s way, only to go into hiding when things got really bad?”

 

“It isn’t that I don’t have negative feelings of my own towards him…”

 

“It’s just that you don’t know how to stand up for yourself,” Stiles said with a sigh. “So, if you’re not going to do it, then I’m going to have to do it for you.” He reached over to pull his fully clothed wolf down for a hug, and went back to rubbing his belly. “Especially since I now have two important people to look out for.” He was quickly warming to the idea of starting a family with Derek. Why wouldn’t he? He loved Derek, and he loved children, so why not put the two together? It wasn’t like Derek would need to drop out of school or anything, because he’d already graduated a couple of years ago. And Derek didn’t have a job that he would need to quit. There was no real reason why Derek couldn’t have a child now, if he were physically capable of it. He had to be, right? Dean’s ominous prediction of death had only applied to a powerless Derek. But now Derek was not only back to being a werewolf, he was a _full_ werewolf. That had to change the rules. And if Derek could safely give birth, the rest Stiles could figure out on his own. He could get a part-time job to support him, and he was positive that his dad would help out. “I love you, Derek,” he whispered sentimentally, leaning closer to kiss him on the forehead.

 

“I love you, too, Stiles.” Derek kept his gaze lowered for a few seconds, obviously thinking about something important, before he looked up again with his sea-green eyes flickering with excitement. “So… I guess that I’m pregnant.”

 

“You definitely are. And that scent of yours is so freaking alluring that even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to get you that way,” he said with a lick of his lips. If only they didn’t have to entertain so many unwanted house guests. Stiles was going out of his mind with the need to make love to Derek again, and again, and _again._

 

“Is that the usual you talking, or the tenko inside of you?”

 

“Probably both. You know how perverted I am.” On second thought, why couldn’t they quietly share a half hour of intimacy without anyone being the wiser? “We could always turn on the shower and hide in the washroom… roll around the floor a bit. And maybe have a few minutes of hot sex in the shower,” he suggested eagerly. Oh yes, he could absolutely go for some hot sex in the shower.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I want to… I _really_ want to, but what if the one miracle child turns into twins, or triplets?” Derek asked in horror.

 

“Derek, you’re a male wolf who can give birth, not a breeding machine,” Stiles said calmly. “Now very quietly –and inconspicuously – follow me to the washroom. All this stress has made me very hard and horny. And I’m not going to be one of those guys who stops fucking just because his mate is pregnant.” Stiles could sense the change in Derek’s scent as soon as he said that. It became stronger and more exotic, turning into an aroma that he couldn’t identify or describe. But he did know that Derek was giving off that particular scent just for him because it was driving him into a sexual frenzy. So this is what werewolves were capable of smelling. Not only could they track people by their scent, but they could also sense states of arousal. “Holy shit, you’d better hurry up before I come in my pants,” Stiles warned, forgetting the need to be quiet and inconspicuous, and just dragging Derek into the washroom with him.


	6. Chapter 6

“Sometimes punching someone helps.”

 

Scott turned away from where he’d been keeping a rigid vigil near a corner of the backyard fence, allowing his alpha-red werewolf eyes to illuminate Malia in the blanketing darkness of the early evening. The moon was beginning to rise in the sky, brighter than usual and swollen with energy – the _full_ moon. He could feel himself being magnetically pulled towards it, the powerful sensation tempting him to shift, and to exhibit even more violence than he already had in the living room a few hours ago.

 

“I’ve already done that. It just made things worse,” Scott grumbled, tensing up a bit when Malia came even closer. Was she here to give him a hard time, too? She seemed awfully serious, which really didn’t jibe with her usual wild nature and offensive – yet factual – observations. Well, Stiles was an alpha now and had apparently started his own pack, so maybe she was here to tell him that she intended to switch sides. Up until a little while ago, Scott hadn’t even been aware that there were now two sides to choose from – his or Stiles.

 

“On my first full moon, I was worried that I might try to eat Stiles,” Malia said matter-of-factly, hugging her arms tightly around her body because it was cold outside. And ever since Malia had been forced back into her human form, she was always complaining of it being too cold. The flimsy loose sweater that she was wearing was probably inviting more cold air in than it was keeping out. “Even after I broke through the chains… Stiles refused to leave. I could have…” Malia paused, about to use the word _eat_ again, but dropped the euphemism in favor of stating the blunt truth. “I could have _killed_ him, but still he stayed.”

 

That’s one of the reasons why Malia had made a valuable addition to Scott’s pack, because of her strong internal strength and her desire to do the right thing. “I know how you feel. I almost killed him on my first full moon,” Scott sighed.

 

“Did you?” Malia asked neutrally, cocking her head to the side and just watching him with those perceptive dark brown eyes of hers. Sometimes they were more animal than they were human. “And he forgave you?”

 

“Of course he forgave me,” Scott said impatiently. “That’s what friends do, they forgive each other.”

 

“And apologize?”

 

“Malia, if you came out here to lecture me…,” Scott warned.

 

“I don’t have the patience for lectures,” Malia declared before circling around to the other side of Scott. “Maybe Stiles doesn’t think he’s your friend anymore.”

 

“We’re fighting, Malia, not at war.”

 

“If that’s true, then why is Derek being used as a pawn in your _fight_? You claim to want to protect him, but then Stiles brings up all these disturbingly believable stories about how you left him for dead on various occasions. And Stiles claims to love Derek, but he uses him against you in every quarrel you two get into. Maybe if the two of you left Derek out of this and got down to what’s really eating away at you, Stilinski wouldn’t be in the living room muttering about _irreparable damage_ and insurance claims – whatever that means.”

 

“I’m not denying that I did things that negatively affected Derek in the past… But I thought that we had gotten over those things. In the beginning, things were a mess with Peter, the Argents, the Kanima… there just wasn’t any time to look back at specific points in time to see exactly where I had slighted Derek. I was too busy fighting for my life, trying to adjust to being a werewolf, and…” Scott ended his sentence abruptly, turning his shoulder to Malia. Because he didn’t want to say _her_ name aloud, or be forced to remember what he had lost in the long war of _werewolves vs. everybody_. But not one day went by that he didn’t think about Allison and what he could’ve done differently in order to prevent her death. It ate away at him on a regular basis, sometimes feeding his rage when he needed to shift or take out yet another new and twisted enemy. If anything happened to Derek… As pissed off as he was at Stiles, he didn’t want his best friend to experience what it felt like to lose his one true love.    

 

“There was this girl who was reading a book during chemistry class, some stupid romance novel for teenagers.”

 

“Malia, you _are_ a teenager,” Scott sighed in exasperation.

 

“Whatever. Anyway, she kept repeating this one expression from the book to her friends because she said it was so _profound_. And no, I don’t know what that means. She said that _time heals all wounds_. But it’s not true. I’m never going to be able to heal my wounds because I can’t bring my dead family back to life to apologize for eating them. Derek isn’t dead… yet. But one day he will be. We will all die, right? Were-people aren’t immortal, are they?”

 

Scott turned back to Malia to just gape at her. How could a girl who was always acting so unaffected and flippant have mastered the art of manipulation so well? Not only had she managed to put the entire mess that Scott found himself in into perspective, but she’d also highlighted the most positive point in his feud with Stiles. Derek was still alive. While it was true that many of their high school friends, neighbors, and people they had associated with had been killed off, their inner circle remained intact. But it wasn’t going to stay that way unless they continued to present a united and strong front. As an alpha, it was Scott’s duty to ensure that his pack survived this onslaught of doppelgangers. _All_ of his pack. Until Stiles adjusted to his new alpha-tenko form, both he and Derek were still a part of Scott’s pack. They were still _his_ responsibility. And with the full moon a few hours away, Stiles would need all the guidance and support Scott could provide him with. “What if I apologize and he throws it back in my face?” There was always that concern – the biggest concern. Because the only thing worse than swallowing his pride in order to force out an apology was having that apology be rejected.

 

“Who? Derek or Stiles?”

 

“Derek seems pretty rational, aside from the full wolf transformation. It’s Stiles that I’m worried about. I know he’s under the influence of the full moon but that beating he gave me felt pretty personal.”

 

“If you keep talking yourself out of it, you’re never going to apologize,” Malia grumbled, shirking her shoulders in annoyance. “And I’m never going to mate with a male after all this drama. Females are so much easier to understand.” Not seeming to realize that she had just expressed an interest in becoming a lesbian, Malia left Scott out in the backyard to make his big decision over whether or not he had the balls to apologize for his past transgressions.

 

* * *

 

 

While the very brief – yet intense – mating session with Stiles on the washroom rug had been so incredibly useful for working off a lot of tension, Derek seemed to be the only one who had benefited from it. After they’d finished, Derek had felt very calm and relaxed, nearly to the point of wanting to take a nap right beside the bathtub. Or better yet, _inside_ the bathtub. After it had been filled with hot water and a few capfuls of that strawberry bubble bath that Malia had convinced Stilinski to add to his shopping bill. It smelled so deliciously sweet that Derek had been tempted to lick at the strawberry pink contents, despite the fact that the liquid inside wasn’t edible. Was this what having a pregnancy craving felt like? Being stupid enough to want to eat bath products?

 

“Why don’t they just all attack at once?” Stiles snarled, pulling back on his pants, zipping them up so hastily that he almost caught his most precious _asset_ with the zipper in the process.

 

Stiles was definitely not relaxed. He might have been out of his mind with pleasure a few moments ago, but now he was radiating aggression and anger, his eyes flashing like a pair of Christmas lights. Amber-brown – Stiles. Glowing red – alpha-tenko. Off and on. Off and on. At first Derek hadn’t really reacted to it, thinking that Stiles had been fooling around with his new powers. But now he was beginning to feel nervous, hoping that Stiles wouldn’t suddenly direct that volatile irritation at him. And _all attack at once?_ What the hell kind of strategy was that? Had Stiles lost his mind?! They’d had a hard enough time taking out the one doppelganger, or at least Scott had. Perhaps now that Derek was back to full strength, and then some, and Stiles was a reborn tenko warrior, they would have a much better chance of holding their own in future battles. But against one, or two, doppelgangers. Not twenty-seven, which was how many they were now left with after Lydia and Kira had taken apart number twenty-eight outside the house.

 

It had to be the effects of the full moon. Derek could feel its pull on him as well, but not to the extent that Stiles was probably feeling it. Since Derek was a pureblood wolf, he had had many years to adjust to his supernatural form, and to grow desensitized to the lunatic charm of the full moon. He had taught Scott to do the same, along with Stiles’ help, but that had been quite some time ago. A lot of things had happened in between then and now. One of the main reasons why he felt uncomfortable trying to teach Stiles to control his rage was because his lover was also his alpha. There was an unspoken hierarchy in place in wolf and kitsune packs. Stiles might be a newly formed tenko, but he was still at the top of the food chain. And because of that, Derek felt naturally inclined to submit to him, even if it meant letting him go off on a suicidal rampage. _Stupid outdated wolf customs,_ Derek thought to himself as he pulled back on his own clothes. He hesitated for just a moment, just long enough to sniff at that strawberry bubble bath one last time, before he followed Stiles out of the washroom and down the stairs.

 

He wasn’t prepared for what was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, and that was a very stiff and serious looking Scott. The alpha wolf was standing there with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, seemingly wanting to appear harmless, but not quite getting it right with his locked muscles and challenging eyes. Or maybe all alphas had that challenging look. Derek couldn’t be sure because he had begun to avoid making eye contact with them when he’d been demoted back to being a beta. Sensing that Scott really wasn’t looking to get into another scuffle, Derek did his best to keep Stiles on the inside of the staircase and out of Scott’s way. The last thing he wanted was to see the two of them get into some kind of warped macho collision over who had the right of way.

 

“Derek, can I speak to you?”

 

“You’re not speaking to my wolf, Scott,” Stiles answered for Derek, otherwise pretending to ignore the other alpha on his way into the kitchen.

 

“About what?” Derek asked out of curiosity.

 

“It would be easier if we did this out in the backyard.”

 

Again with the backyard. Why did people keep going out into the backyard to have their private conversations? It wasn’t like the bedroom doors had been ripped off their hinges or anything. People could still close the doors and whisper if they wanted to keep their secrets. Or maybe they couldn’t. Alphas had remarkably sensitive hearing. _Stiles?_

“Without Stiles,” Scott added as soon as Derek’s mate was out of sight.

 

Now that Derek had his powers restored, he was able to hone in on Scott’s chemosignals, allowing himself to analyze the alpha’s emotional state. True to Scott’s words he only wanted to talk. His emotional state was surprisingly calm and controlled otherwise. “Okay,” Derek reluctantly agreed, hoping that Stiles wouldn’t come bursting into the backyard to maul Scott in the middle of whatever it was the alpha had to say.

 

The backyard was a mess. A complete and utter disaster area. The second Derek stepped off of the back porch and onto the grass, he literally reeled with the sensory overload of being bombarded with clusters and clusters of chemosignals. They were everywhere. On the porch itself, zigzagging back and forth from the tree at the corner of the fence, to the gate that led to the front of the house. And more chemosignals were wafting over from the side of the house, settling on the fence, the grass, and even as high up as the trees. They were usually organized according to the emotion linked to the chemical that was being represented in the atmosphere. Red was for rage or lust, blue for calm, green for wariness or nervousness, yellow for tension, and so on. But now all the colors were scattered into piles of ugly browns and oranges, with blacks and grays thrown in to add to the confusion. It was absolute chaos.

 

Derek stumbled forward and would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for Scott grabbing onto his arm to steady him. “Derek, are you okay?” Scott asked, his voice sounding genuinely concerned.

 

“This whole area is flooded with chemosignals,” Derek complained, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his forehead to ward off an oncoming headache. “I can’t filter them out.”

 

For a moment, Scott was silent, keeping his grip on Derek firm while he scanned the backyard with his own wolf senses. But Scott’s ability to detect chemosignals paled in comparison to Derek’s heightened senses. Even after Derek had attempted to teach Scott how to read the emotions in his environment, the alpha still hadn’t been able to reach the stage where he could focus clearly enough to do so. All he saw was the backyard, the leaves, and the fence. And even then, very little of that because it was quite dark outside and Stilinski had forgotten to turn on the back porch lights. The 75% powered full moon was now being blocked off by a very large patch of dark clouds and wouldn’t be visible again for another thirty minutes, at least. “I can’t sense anything,” Scott finally admitted. “Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look so good.”

 

Sitting down would probably be a good idea. Derek allowed Scott to help him sit down on the porch steps and breathed in and out slowly, doing his best to dull his senses so that when he next opened his eyes he wouldn’t throw up. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Scott had seemed very eager to discuss _something_ , but as soon as they’d entered the backyard, it had felt like the alpha was maybe losing his nerve to bring up whatever was on his mind.

 

“I wanted to apologize,” Scott mumbled, starting off sounding pretty unsure of himself. “For… lots of stuff… like that time… um… Damn it,” he breathed in annoyance when he began to insert nervous pauses into his sentences. “You’re going to think I’m an idiot but--.”

 

“You don’t know how to apologize?” Derek glanced over at Scott, who was sitting beside him, and shut his eyes again quickly when he was blasted with waves of green that were churning around the alpha.

 

“How did you know?”

 

Derek shrugged neutrally, thinking that everyone was aware of the fact that Scott never said he was sorry for anything. “I’ve just never heard you do it before.”

 

“Okay, well, maybe I haven’t. So I’m going to suck at it. But I really am sorry, Derek, for the terrible way I treated you in the past. I know that I blew off your attempts to help me become a better werewolf, and I put you in danger far too many times. And I criticized the way you managed the pack when you were an alpha, only to realize that your way was the best way when I became an alpha myself. I did feel bad about it… especially after I broke up with Allison because that gave me far too much free time to think about all my mistakes. But instead of apologizing, I tried to make things right between us by getting between you and Stiles. And that really screwed things up more.”

 

When Scott stopped speaking, Derek figured that he was most likely finished with his apology. That Scott had gotten through it at all impressed Derek greatly. The alpha was definitely making some wonderful progress with his strength of character, which was necessary in order for him to grow into a much stronger leader. “Was that so hard?” Derek lightly teased.

 

“It will be if you don’t accept my apology,” Scott said anxiously.

 

“Apology accepted,” Derek said evenly. He wasn’t the type to hold grudges anyhow. He also wasn’t in the habit of expressing his own feelings, so he wasn’t going to sit there and bitch to Scott about how hurt and disappointed he’d felt when the alpha had betrayed him in the past. That was all water under the bridge now. So long as Scott felt remorse for his actions, they could move forward and try to forge a healthier relationship in the future.

 

“Thank God,” Scott groaned, visibly deflating as he exhaled loudly and leaned forward onto his knees. “Now I have to apologize to Stiles for treating him like a sidekick instead of as an equal.”

 

“Maybe now might not be the best time to confront Stiles,” Derek suggested wisely.

 

“Why not?” Scott was back on full alert as soon as he heard the warning in Derek’s tone. “Is he giving into the effects of the full moon?”

 

“He wants to take on all the doppelgangers at once. So yes, I’d say that he needs some anger management counseling from an alpha before he tries to do something stupid like that. But I don’t know what’s going to happen to any alpha that tries to approach him.”

 

“You’re being affected, too,” Scott pointed out when Derek refused to open his eyes.

 

“Perhaps. But is it from the full moon or from my pregnancy?” Had he really said that out loud? _His_ pregnancy? Like it was suddenly normal enough to insert into a casual conversation.

 

“I have no idea. I can’t help you with the chemosignals but I can help you with any anger or control issues you may be feeling.”

 

Derek smiled thinly and shook his head. “Then you can’t help me at all because I’m not angry and I have complete control of my wolf side. Aside from the sudden nausea and dizziness that the chemosignals in the backyard caused, the only other strange thing that I’ve noted was the desire to lick bubble bath.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“It smelled like strawberries.”

 

“Yeah, I get that. But I definitely don’t think you should give into that bizarre craving.” Scott got up off of the porch and brushed off his pants. “I’m going to try and talk to Stiles. If we can’t get him to calm down, we’re going to need to chain him up somewhere. And with his current power levels, that somewhere is going to have to be as far away from other people as possible. Are you going to come back inside?”

 

It would be nice to return inside to raid Stilinski’s fridge for some of that apricot jam that he’d spotted on the top shelf, right next to the maple syrup, which Derek also felt inclined to lick. And maybe he could trouble someone to make him some tea. That would warm him up and maybe keep him away from the scented fabric softener that he’d smelled when they’d passed by the laundry room. But first he wanted to sort through all these chemosignals in the backyard. If he could acclimatize himself to them, he might be able to analyze them further. He needed to know what he was sensing and why.

 

“I want to stay out for a few more minutes to think,” he replied, sensing Scott’s hesitation to leave him alone when the alpha didn’t automatically move towards the door. “Just five minutes,” he insisted.

 

“Okay, but don’t make it any longer than that because there are still doppelgangers after you. If anyone – or _anything_ – comes over that fence, you’d better get your ass back inside.”

 

“I will,” Derek readily agreed. He didn’t want to appear like a coward, but he also had no intention of taking on any doppelgangers by himself. Perhaps his instinct was now to protect the precious life inside of him that he could sense merging with his own. And in order to do so, he had to stay as far away from the battle lines as possible.

 

“Wish me luck,” Scott muttered half-heartedly as he dragged himself back inside to confront a highly irrational alpha-tenko.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles wished he could live on the moon. Even from a distance the craterous moon looked enormous, vast, and limitless. It glowed like a massive orb that acted like a sort of heat lamp, bathing Stiles in its all-encompassing power. Having grown up with very little power and absolutely no sway, Stiles would have thought that the energy surging through his body and soul would be too much to handle. Contrary to what the others feared, he was doing an admirable job of coping with the increasing magnetic pull of the planetary satellite, absorbing its power instead of allowing it to absorb him. Of course there was the occasional blip – the brief moment here and there – where he felt like giving into a feeding frenzy. But, with a little concentration, he soon became accustomed to reigning in those psychotic urges, which led him to wonder why werewolves made such a fuss over the full moon. If anything, the full moon was a godsend with the uncharted energy that it bestowed upon the were-creatures during this time of the month. The things Stiles could do with that energy…

 

Brushing the palms of his hands over the rough black shingles on either side of him, Stiles casually sprawled back against the slant of the tiled roof so that he could gaze up at the moon. When he’d been inside, he’d felt nervous and restless, and even a tad violent. But after he’d climbed out of his bedroom window and pulled himself up onto the roof, all of those uncontrollable emotions had naturally dissipated. With one glance up at the moon, his unease had just faded away to be quickly replaced with awe and admiration. But those feelings had nothing to do with the mystical ball of light that was supercharging his preexisting tenko powers.

 

Down below, at the far end of the garden, Stiles could see Derek wandering along the fence in the near darkness. Because it was impossible for a regular human to get from one end to the other without stepping on prickly weeds, or tripping over the random garden tool that Stiles had left lying on the grass, Derek was using his wolf sight to guide him safely around any dangerous objects. The wolf’s eyes were glowing a bright luminescent blue, which made his attractive, fuzzy face easy to see from a distance. Stiles had no idea what his lover was up to, but he was filled with pride knowing that such a magnificent creature now belonged to him. If their child were to look anything like Derek, Stiles imagined that they would have a difficult time with the parenting when he – or she – reached the average dating age.

 

“What’re you looking at?”

 

Stiles whirled around with his fangs exposed and his eyes glowing red in warning, only to find that there was no doppelganger behind him. No, it was only Scott. “Oh, it’s just _you_ ,” he said condescendingly, but not dropping his guard because he was still pissed off at the other alpha. What pissed him off even more was that it was draining his energy to keep that anger fresh in his mind and in his attitude. He usually considered himself to be a very forgiving individual, but Scott had pushed him way past his limits. So, despite the facial muscle spasms that his snarling and glaring was causing, he continued to display his fury proudly where everyone could see – and _feel_ – it.

 

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

 

“ _Yes_ , I mind if you sit down,” Stiles snapped, not making room for Scott to sit anywhere. Scott could be on the verge of falling headfirst off of the roof and Stiles still wouldn’t move over for him. “I heard you secretly took Derek outside to stab me in the back.”

 

“Um… no… I took Derek outside to apologize to him.”

 

Was it his imagination or did Scott smell nervous? Since when did the all-powerful, cocky, egotistical alpha get nervous? “And how did that go?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

 

“He accepted my apology.”

 

 _Damn it! Damn soft-hearted sexy wolf,_ Stiles thought to himself. This was probably why people continued to walk all over Derek. His wolf was too kind and forgiving, or selfless, or _something_. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t anticipated Derek letting bygones be bygones with Scott. The one thing that he hadn’t foreseen was Scott making the effort to offer his wolf an apology. Whether it had been sincere or not remained to be determined. “So, what? You’ve come to rub it in my face?” _Asshole!_

“No! That’s not why I came up here,” Scott protested. He tried to maneuver around Stiles to sit on the opposite side of him, but there wasn’t enough space to get by, so he gave up and crouched down on the corner of the roof, gripping the shingles so that he wouldn’t slip and tumble off. “I came to apologize to you, too.”

 

“Wow, it must be my lucky day,” Stiles snickered. “The almighty Scott McCall is here to pretend to kiss my ass.”

 

“ _Stiles_ , would you cut that out?”

 

“Cut what out?”

 

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry, and you’re making it as if I’m putting on a bullshit act. Well, it’s not. Can you just let me speak for a few minutes? If you want to make an ass out of me after that, you can go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

 

“But you will be annoyed,” Stiles pointed out.

 

“I’m not going to deny that…”

 

“Fine. Say whatever you need to say and put yourself out of your misery.” It didn’t matter what Scott had to say. If Stiles didn’t want to listen to it, he could easily tune it out. After all, he had Derek to amuse himself with so that he wouldn’t have to actually look at Scott while he was speaking. He could just enjoy spying on his… _Where the hell did he go?_ Stiles squinted, craning his neck downwards so that he could scan the entire backyard with his glowing-red alpha eyes. _Aww, shit!_ Derek had gone back inside. Now he would have no choice but to give Scott his full attention, which was more than he deserved.

 

“Stiles, I’m really sorry about what our friendship has become. I’m sorry for using you and treating Derek like he doesn’t have feelings. I’m sorry I stopped thinking about you when I started dating. I’m just… sorry… for everything.”

 

Well, if that wasn’t an apology worth the praise of a preschool teacher, Stiles really didn’t know what was. He felt like groaning inside for old times’ sake because _holy shit_ Scott could sound so de-evolved when he put his mind to it. As much as Stiles wanted to deny it, he could hear the sincerity in Scott’s voice, as well as feel the regret vibrating in the air. He had his tenko honed senses to thank for that, because he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on either of those things as a regular human being. Scott was absolutely horrible at expressing any feelings that weren’t attached to a hot chick.

 

“Um… so, what do you think?”

 

 _Seriously, Scott? What do I think?_ It was such a ridiculous question to stick onto the end of an apology that Stiles couldn’t help but rudely snicker to it. But he had to turn his head quickly to press his hand up against his mouth so that he wouldn’t burst out into hysterical laughter. The apology was _that_ bad! So typical-Scott. “What do you want, Scott?”

 

“I know that we can’t go back to the way things were… but can we at least try to be friends again? I miss having you as a friend.”

 

Now _that_ Stiles could understand. That was probably the most meaningful thing Scott had said in ages. Stiles missed having Scott as a friend, but the old Scott – the one that hadn’t been bitten by Peter Hale and turned into an holier-than-thou, pain-in-the-ass werewolf. Could Stiles be friends with Scott again? There were still a lot of negative feelings lingering inside of him, but there were also too many good memories to risk blowing Scott off. Maybe… “We can try, but if we’re going to do that, you’re going to have to learn to treat others with respect and equality. I don’t want to play Robin to your fucking Batman anymore. Not like you would ever be Batman material, but just so you know, I’m not going to put up with the superhero/sidekick dynamics anymore.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re an alpha now, Stiles.”

 

Was that praise he heard in Scott’s tone? Well, holy shit, miracles actually did exist! “Okay then.” Stiles raised his head to the moon again, drinking in its eternal glow. But, after a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder to find Scott still there. “You needed something else?”

 

“Now that we’re kind of friends again… maybe I can help you with resisting the pull of the moon?”

 

“Not to borrow your arrogance or anything, but I don’t need any help with that. I’ve got it covered. Being able to see the moon seems to have given me control over my reaction to it. But, if you want to help me, there is one thing you can do.”

 

“Sure, Stiles. What do you need?”

 

Now Scott was just sounding overeager, which Stiles didn’t mind because it showed that the other alpha was still making an effort to keep things pleasant between them. “I need you to find my sexy mate and send him up here to do some star gazing with me. I’d say _moon gazing_ , but I don’t know if that’s a thing.” It probably was, but Stiles didn’t know enough about astrology to risk staking his reputation on it.

 

“Okay, I’ll go get him. And Stiles?”

 

“Now what?”

 

Scott hesitated for a moment before cheerfully blurting out, “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere inside the house, bags were rustling and car keys jangling. Derek could hear the deadbolt on the front door turn and lock, and then that rustling/jingling symphony of music started to come his way. Being pregnant seemed to have its benefits, which included Derek’s fine-tuned super sensitive hearing, and his heightened ability to see the full range of chemosignals. Maybe this was nature’s way of providing him with adequate defenses in case he were to encounter danger of the supernatural variety.

 

Pushing back a chair at the empty kitchen table, Derek made himself comfortable on it and waited. Everyone else seemed to have moved into either the living room or one of the bedrooms upstairs. People were talking and preparing for battle. Judging by the way Stilinski was purposefully moving around the place, Derek guessed that the sheriff was on the verge of putting a plan into action. It would be good to have a solid plan to rely on, instead of sitting around indoors, waiting for more doppelgangers to attack. So far they’d been lucky, but how well would they be able to fend them off if they stormed the house in larger groups? And what if the leader of the doppelgangers himself decided to make an appearance? By some unspoken law, leaders were always much more powerful and devious than the henchmen that they sent to do their initial dirty work. But what a nerve that doppelganger had! To want to claim Derek as his personal incubation machine! Although Derek didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why he was being hunted down for that very purpose, he couldn’t help but wonder what a half-breed wolf/doppelganger would look like. If the doppelgangers were to merge their powers with his through hideously evil offspring, Derek supposed that they would no longer need to find hosts to devour. They would inherit his shapeshifting abilities, therefore being able to effortlessly blend in with everyone else. That would enable them to hunt with ease, killing in plain sight instead of in the shadows.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

 

Derek glanced up at Kira in mild confusion. He was pretty sure that some of the polite phrases she occasionally used were either dated or so obscure that nobody knew what she was talking about. Like the rest of Stiles’ friends who had carefully been screened before being added to the _inner circle_ , Kira was a bit odd – but likable. She’d apparently gone out for a while to change and get some shopping because she was wearing a different plaid skirt and a clean leather jacket. Now Derek wouldn’t be subjected to the awful stench of doppelganger blood while he sat down to eat. It was so nice to be in the company of someone with real manners and consideration for others.

 

“I’m not interested in pennies, but I’ll take whatever you’ve got in that _Whole Foods Market_ plastic bag.”

 

Upon hearing that, Kira beamed and reached into the plastic supermarket bag to begin withdrawing item upon item of packaged edible goods. “I went home to get changed and toss out my bloody clothes, so I figured that I could pick you up some snacks at the supermarket while I was out. I talked to my mom about your pregnancy – and _wow_ was she ever floored to hear that _you_ were the one who was knocked up and not _me_ – and she came up with a list of things that she had cravings for while she was pregnant. So I made a list and tried to get as many tasty snacks as I could find. Which was kind of hard because the list wasn’t organized by aisle. So I had to go back and forth between aisles… and that took a bit longer than I expected.”

 

 _Note to self, stop Kira from babbling._ Derek kept his mouth shut because one did not go about biting the hand that fed it. “What’s this?” He grabbed for the first bright red item that Kira had placed onto the table. _Candy apple?_ It was such a shiny, vibrant red color. That glossy sheen had to be… _apple_? A plain, organically grown, Red Delicious apple? _Ugh! No thanks!_ Shoving the apple out of the way, Derek snatched up the second item, which just so happened to be a container of _ice cream?_ No. Yogurt! Plain, sugarless, no artificial flavors added yogurt. What was this? Some sort of prank? “Kira, this is yogurt.”

 

“I know,” Kira exclaimed brightly. “My mom said that it makes the baby happy because it’s full of probiotics. You’re going to have a happy baby if you eat this every day.”

 

Did Derek want a happy baby? Absolutely! Was he going to force himself to eat yogurt in order to make his baby happy? _No… Hell no…_ While Derek considered his diet to be quite clean and healthy, he was now pregnant and entitled to cravings for stupid, unhealthy things like ice cream, chocolate chocolate-chip cookies, chocolate fudge, and molasses. Those things would definitely make his barely formed baby happy. “Broccoli sprouts?” Derek held up one of the golf ball-sized green vegetables between two fingers, before flicking it off the edge of the table.

 

“Is something wrong?” Now Kira was looking worried, like she’d made some big horrible mistake. “Of course I don’t expect you to eat them raw.” She crouched down, grabbed for the sprout, missed, and ended up crawling under the table after it. “I’ll cook them for you. Do you want them boiled or steamed?”

 

Trying so hard not to groan in dismay, Derek buried his face in his arms and collapsed onto the top of the table. Broccoli sprouts, yogurt, and a shiny red apple? He wasn’t being rewarded for conceiving a child with Stiles, he was being punished. “Steamed is fine,” he muttered from where he was hiding his face from Kira. “Wouldn’t want to kill all those nutrients by boiling them.” Now he knew why Kira had turned out so weird. Her mother had poisoned her with too much vitamin C and fiber when she’d still been in the womb. As soon as Derek got his claws on Stiles, he was going to threaten to bite him unless he acted like a caring mate and hooked him up with a 9-month’s supply of sugar.

 

“My mom said that you might be like a kitsune,” Kira continued to sound chatty as she rummaged around Stilinski’s kitchen for a pot and a sieve to steam the vegetables in.

 

“I doubt that,” Derek mumbled in absolute boredom from where he had begun to scrape his claws on the surface of Stilinski’s wooden table.

 

“But you’re already showing signs of being pregnant when most people go for weeks before they realize that they’re going through changes. So my mom said…”

 

Was there anything that Kira’s mom hadn’t said? Answering that question might finish the conversation a lot quicker. “What did she say?” Derek asked, feigning curiosity.

 

“She said that you might experience the pregnancy as a wolf, and not a human. That would mean that your gestation period could be somewhere between 62 and 75 days, which would be a lot shorter than the nine months that most women carry the child for.”

 

“Excuse me?” Derek lifted his head from the table to give Kira a really long, hopeful look. “What does _gestation_ mean?” Although Derek prided himself on his knowledge of literature and his well-padded vocabulary, he was completely unfamiliar with any and all words related to hormonal changes in women and pregnancies.

 

“It’s the period of time between the conception of the child and the actual birth.”

 

“So I could be finished with this in a little over two months?!” Nine months had sounded like an absolute hardship, but two months Derek figured he could handle. Maybe. With lots of chocolate and ice cream. And strawberry jam.

 

“That’s what she said. My mom’s lived a long time so she’s familiar with a story or two where a kitsune or full wolf gave birth in their changed forms. After that really short gestation period. So, who knows! You might get lucky.”

 

Cutting seven months of weight gain, crankiness, ugly maternity-wear, and basic immobility off of a 9-month sentence wouldn’t be _lucky_. It would be a miracle! Not wanting to jinx himself, Derek didn’t comment on what Kira had just said, choosing to play games with the produce on the table instead. Something purple inside the plastic bag caught Derek’s eye, so he dug his hand inside to pull it out. _An eggplant._ Kira was going to _steam_ an eggplant?! Maybe Derek couldn’t trust what Kira’s mother had to say after all. If that kitsune woman was teaching her daughter to produce tasteless, boiled and steamed vegetables with absolutely no texture, she probably had no clue what she was talking about. While Kira had her back turned, Derek pocketed the eggplant and went to the cupboard to take down a bowl. He then opened the freezer and filled the bowl with ice, before going into the fridge to take out the apricot jam that he’d seen earlier. Using a spoon, he emptied the jam on top of the ice, grabbed a steak knife from the knife block, and left the kitchen. He needed to find Stiles before Kira chased after him with steamed apples and broccoli sprouts. But before that...

 

Finding a nice quiet spot at the bottom of the staircase, Derek sat down and set to work smashing up the ice with the steak knife until he had what resembled a very bizarre looking pile of apricot shaved ice.


	8. Chapter 8

“Fuck off, Stiles!” Scott growled in a menacing tone.

 

“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” Stiles practically shouted back at him.

 

Stilinski resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands as the expletives became more colorful, and even more offensive. He was sitting inside his sheriff’s hunter-green SUV, with the driver’s side door open – so he could hear the bullshit verbal mud-slinging going back and forth, desperately trying to concentrate on… What the fuck had he been trying to concentrate on again? “Boys!” He hollered, trying to get their attention.

 

“Get back here! I’m not finished,” Stiles threatened.

 

“You touch me there again and you will be finished,” Scott warned angrily.

 

That did it! “Would you both stop fucking each other and shut the fuck up?!” Stilinski shouted at them both. Which resulted in Scott looking like he was going to throw up and Stiles turning a deathly shade of bloodless white. _Now what?_

“Dad, please, _for the love of all that is holy_ , never swear again,” Stiles pleaded in traumatized disgust.

 

“What?” So it was okay for teenagers to curse up a storm but Stilinski had to watch his mouth? Who the hell was the parental figure in this group of confrontational were-people anyhow?

 

“I agree with Stiles. It would be so great if you would just keep speaking like a polite adult, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott hastily agreed.

 

Stilinski sat there with his gun in his lap and his mouth open in protest, wanting to tell the two little punks off but not knowing what to say. What was so different about the way he had sworn, as opposed to the way that they had? Was there a special way you were supposed to say _fuck_? Stilinski had always figured that it was just one of those words that teenagers threw into the middle of a perfectly good sentence to _fuck_ it up. Back when he was a child, he’d been taught to mind his manners and save the back-alley swear words for the uncouth masses. Children had had a lot more respect before rap music, video games, and rollerblading had become popular. He just had to face the fact that the world was going to hell, and his son was probably going to be the one who ended up causing the apocalypse.

 

“Mr. Stilinski?”

 

And then there was that other matter that he kept neglecting. Glancing in the rearview mirror so that he could see the occupant in the backseat, Stilinski tried to muster up a smile, but ended up cringing instead. Derek looked so forlorn and lost that he almost gave in. Almost… That poor, starving, cute wolf act probably worked on Stiles all the time, but Stilinski wasn’t going to fall for it. “You’re not getting anymore sweets, Derek. You’ve already had an apple pie, chocolate pudding, and a lollipop.”

 

“I never actually ate the lollipop,” Derek said innocently.

 

“You licked it before Stiles knocked it out of your hand and onto the ground, which still counts as having eaten it. And I’m not even going to comment on that sludge I caught you crunching on before we left home.” If Stiles didn’t do something to control Derek’s compulsive sugar-licking habit, they might have a serious problem with a diabetic wolf in a few months.

 

“ _Fuck off already,”_ Scott cursed again.

 

“Would you two stop that?” Malia stood there in the Beacon Hills High School parking lot, bristling with extreme irritation at the repetitive use of the F word.

 

Stilinski was parked indiscreetly out back, at the far end of a row of empty parking spots that belonged to staff members only. Stiles had left his jeep out front and Lydia’s car was parked a ways down the street, so as not to be noticeable. The school was always deserted at this hour because nobody had any business being anywhere on the premises after 11pm, at least not if they wanted to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention. There were fines in place for trespassing on school property, fines which this lot of teenagers should have been forced to pay many times over. Luckily for them, Stilinski was in the habit of covering their asses whenever they got caught lurking around on school grounds after hours.

 

“He touched my man boobs,” Scott complained with a scowl.

 

“You fucking wish! I would rather smoke crack.” Stiles gave Scott a powerful shove between his shoulders, sending him crashing into Kira, who he groped by accident in an effort to hold himself upright and regain his balance. But Kira didn’t say a word, indicating that this was probably something that the two of them did regularly in their free time. “Next!”

 

Stilinski seriously prayed that this plan of his wasn’t going to crash and burn, or endanger Derek anymore than was necessary. One way or the other, Derek was destined to be at the center of any future doppelganger attacks, so using him as bait had been the only logical option. That deadweight Deaton hadn’t been available to ask for advice, which had left Stilinski to fine-tune every aspect of his customized battle plan – alone. The center stage for his plan just so happened to be Stiles’ beloved high school, mainly because it was such a magnet for all things weird and supernatural. It also got attacked and vandalized so often that Stilinski was hoping that another few smashed windows and a fire or two wouldn’t draw too much attention. He was willing to do anything to minimize the destruction to his own home, so while he might feel awful about what the school was about to be put through, he would gladly subject it to a doppelganger attack if it meant sparing his personal place of residence.

 

A part of Stilinski’s plan involved surrounding the doppelgangers on all sides by Kira, Lydia, Malia, and Scott, who would be undetectable thanks to Stiles’ ability to mask scents. Unfortunately, in order to activate that particular _gift_ , Stiles had to physically touch the person that he wanted to mask, hence all the profanity and drama over Scott’s unwanted frisking. And now Stiles was moving his hands over Malia’s shoulders, causing her to growl like a feral she-cat.

 

“Don’t worry. This is the PG-rated version,” Stiles reassured Malia as he swept his hands down both her arms.

 

“Good. Because the X-rated version ends with you in a coma,” she pleasantly warned him.

 

“Life was never this complicated when I was in high school,” Stilinski muttered to himself.

 

“How long ago was that?” Derek asked, most likely in an attempt to stir up conversation. But there had to be an age-related crack in there somewhere.

 

For the fourth time that night, Stilinski found himself envisioning the next family Christmas in his humble household. Only, it wasn’t going to be so humble now that Stiles had found himself a lifelong partner – and gotten him pregnant – to initiate into all the festive Stilinski traditions. Instead of a father and son spending a lonely Christmas together by vacuuming up pine needles from a shedding, sadly decorated holiday Colorado blue spruce, there would be a bright-eyed wolf, and an adorable grandson or granddaughter, for them to celebrate with. Something told Stilinski that the quiet and reserved wolf probably knew what ornaments would look best on the tree, and how to hang them properly without snapping off any unlucky branches. Maybe they could watch something other than that outdated, depressing _A Christmas Carol_ as well. The only reason why they forced themselves to watch it was because it had been Stiles’ mother’s favorite Christmas movie. As much as Stilinski had loved his dearly departed wife, he felt that it was now time to move on and create some new traditions with their soon-to-be upgraded family.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

 _Crap! I’m getting old…_ Stilinski dragged his mind back to the present, promising himself that he wasn’t going to let it wander while they were in the middle of a long and violent battle. “Christmas,” he replied before he could stop himself.

 

“Oh.”

 

 _Oh?_ _That’s it?_ Maybe Derek wasn’t the Christmas type after all. “Well, it looks like Stiles is done. You be careful in there, you hear,” Stilinski cautioned, seriously worried that their numbers were too few, or that his plan would ultimately fail. “We’ll pick them off one by one from the outside. Hopefully none of them will get through the net, but if they do…”

 

“I’ve been in fights before,” Derek said casually, doing his best to dispel whatever concerns Stilinski might have had about his fighting prowess.

 

“Before you were pregnant, yes, I know. If you have to fight, then fight. But try to leave the fighting to Stiles if you can, just to play it safe. Remember--.”

 

“They can look like anyone,” Derek cut in, reminding Stilinski that he was not going to be taking any chances tonight. “But no matter who they choose to mimic, their chemosignals will still be black.”

 

“Huh?” What the hell were chemosignals? “Actually, I was going to remind you that I want both you and my future grandchild back safe and sound at the end of all this.”

 

“Um… okay.” Derek glanced at Stilinski, blushed, and hastened to get out of the car before the sentimental moment stretched on for too long.

 

Stilinski watched Derek climb out of the vehicle and go over to join Stiles by the back entrance to the school. Derek was the only one that Stiles made a half-assed job at masking, intentionally letting a fraction of his scent bleed through to make him a tempting target for the enemy. The doppelgangers would not be able to resist Derek tonight, especially with the full moon hanging high in the sky, apparently intensifying the wolf’s scent tenfold.

 

As soon as Derek joined Stiles, the others broke off into two pairs. Scott with Kira, and Lydia with Malia. Everyone was dressed in black from head to toe, except for Stiles and Derek. Stiles was wearing another one of his shabby plaid shirts overtop a green t-shirt with senseless writing on it, and a pair of blue jeans that looked like they’d been purposely damaged and then thrown into the bargain bin. Derek was also wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, along with a peach jacket that Stilinski had lent him. Boy had he ever gotten reamed by Stiles for a) owning something so hideous, and b) having the gull to put it on Stiles’ _sexy wolf_. Stilinski felt like washing Stiles’ mouth out with soap whenever his son called Derek that embarrassing nickname. It sounded like something one might call a stripper, not a cherished lover. But Derek had needed to wear something that would attract attention, and all the wolf owned were black shirts and black jeans, so they hadn’t had much to choose from.

 

Not wanting to witness his son committing a crime, Stilinski started up the SUV and drove off before Stiles could take those heavy duty bolt cutters to the thick chain that was keeping the back doors securely locked up. Stilinski drove down a side street, turned right, and parked behind Lydia’s dark Toyota Prius. Making sure that nobody in the neighborhood was keeping a particularly keen eye on him, Stilinski got out, locked the vehicle, and hurried back to add his firepower to the action.

 

* * *

 

Inside the corridors of Beacon Hills High, it was very dark and spooky, definitely not an atmosphere conducive to studying. For a first-timer to the world of breaking and entering, roaming around the educational institute in the middle of the night might have seemed frightening or disorienting. But it was neither for Stiles, and he suspected that Derek wasn’t too disturbed by the prospect of returning to the supernaturally charged school either. They had both been inside the building outside of regular school hours so often that they knew where all the light switches were, which classrooms were left unlocked – although they had no idea if leaving a classroom unlocked was intentional or a sign of negligence – and how many lockers there were between the cafeteria and the north stairwell.

 

They also knew how easy it was to break the lock on the cafeteria doors, should either one of them have a sudden craving for potato chips or a chocolate milkshake.

 

“What if they don’t come?” Derek asked Stiles as they crept along the corridor, heading past the cafeteria and towards the stairwell at the end of the hall. They had kept all the lights off so as not to make the trap look too obvious, and were whispering as if they didn’t want to get caught.

 

Earlier on, Stiles had chased Derek out into the backyard like a horny fox, pulling him in tightly for some overeager kisses and raunchy groping. And Derek had pretended to resist, telling his mate that he absolutely refused to do anything with him while their house was full of unwanted guests. That had led to Stiles suggesting that they enjoy a late-night rendezvous at the school, because nobody would think to look for them there. It had all been an act to lure the doppelgangers to Beacon Hills High, where there would be more space to spread out and maneuver should they be attacked there. It just wasn’t practical to risk a group of those face-eating monsters breaking into the Stilinski household and overwhelming them in such tight confines.

 

“You said that you identified doppelganger chemosignals all over the backyard, which means that that’s where they were intending to strike from. So they must’ve been close enough to overhear. Even if they hadn’t been, my jeep is parked out front, just waiting to be found. If they want you so badly, but missed out on our little backyard performance, then they’re just going to have to work extra hard to find you.”

 

When Stiles’ eyes began to glow red, Derek slowed down and reached over to cover them with his hands.

 

“Oh, so you want to play hide and seek with me?” Stiles asked giddily, covering Derek’s hands with his own.

 

“Maybe later. Your eyes are glowing red again. Are you sure you have your tenko under control?”

 

“I’m positive, so don’t worry. Me and the fox are going to be on our best behavior tonight.”

 

“You do realize that you just referred to yourself as a dual entity.” Derek didn’t mind Stiles’ warped sense of humor so much, he just didn’t want his mate to develop a split personality if the tenko’s power became too much for him to handle. Thankfully, the time that Stiles had spent up on the roof had managed to bring him back in touch with reality. He wasn’t going around acting overly aggressive and angry anymore, which meant that he was paying attention to Derek again. And Derek really liked it when Stiles made a point of asking how he was feeling, or kindly offered him something sweet to snack on. Sugar helped Derek to feel calm and stable, instead of feeling whipped with fear because he couldn’t stop imagining what that doppelganger leader wanted him for.

 

“Why settle for one when you can have two?”

 

Derek groaned and lowered his hands from Stiles’ eyes, relieved to see that they had returned to the gentle amber-brown that he was so fond of. “I only need one Stiles, so I only want one Stiles. Two would drive me crazy, and I’m already feeling a bit unpredictable with these sudden urges for… _Cotton candy_?”

 

“Huh?”

 

When Stiles turned to give him a funny look, Derek sheepishly tapped locker number 312 and looked at him expectantly. “Please?”

 

“No, Derek.” Stiles corrected his trajectory and headed back in the direction of the stairwell.

 

“Stiles, _come on_ ,” Derek pleaded. “They only sell cotton candy at that specialty shop downtown. And we never go downtown.”

 

“If you want it so badly, why don’t _you_ break the lock? My dad has enough reasons to kick my ass right now. I don’t want to add damaging school property and stealing cotton candy to that list.”

 

“But it’s not the same unless you get it for me.” Feeling horribly frustrated, Derek flicked out a claw, hooked it into the steel locker door, and dragged it downwards to create a sickening screeching sound.

 

“Damn it! You bad, spoiled, sexy wolf,” Stiles snarled. He whipped around, came storming back for the locker, batted Derek’s claw off of it, and glared at him. “If I get you the cotton candy, will you lay off the sugar for the rest of the night?”

 

The only thing sweeter than cotton candy was Stiles’ willingness to get Derek whatever he wanted. As guilty as Derek ought to feel for manipulating his mate like that, he discovered that he didn’t feel bad about it at all. Stiles loved him enough to steal candy for him. That made him feel all warm and glowing inside. “I promise.”

 

“I mean it, Derek. You can’t even put sugar into your tea or lick the strawberries that Lydia bought for you. No sugar. No sweets. Nothing. The cotton candy will be the end of your sugar rampage.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“ _Manipulative wolf with pregnancy cravings,”_ Stiles muttered under his breath as he snapped all of the claws out on his right hand. He severed the lock in two pieces with one quick slash, opening up the locker and freeing the large bag of pink and blue cotton candy inside. But before Derek could make a grab for it, Stiles snatched it up and turned it over in his hands. “Hold on, my sugar-coated sexy wolf. I need to check the expiration date.”

 

“Who cares about the expiration date!” Derek said with great impatience. “Sugar never expires.”

 

“I care because I don’t want little Stiles Jr. to get food poisoning.”

 

“Little Stiles Jr. is dying of sugar withdrawal right now. If you don’t give him what he wants…,” Derek threatened.

 

“Well, look at you. All cute and violent with your empty threats and sugar dependency.” Stiles smirked as he passed the cheerful yarn-like sugary treat over to Derek. “You’re lucky. It expires in 6 months.” Wrapping an arm around Derek’s shoulders, together they proceeded to the stairs, and down into the lower level of the school.

 

Hastily tearing open a hole in the plastic bag, Derek stuck his hand in, pulled out a handful of fluff, and happily stuffed it into his mouth. “Mmm, it tastes just as terrible as I remember it.”

 

“Are you for real? You didn’t like cotton candy as a kid?”

 

“My parents actually cared about my health – and my teeth,” Derek informed Stiles as he licked at his second handful of fluffy sweetness, watching it dissolve on his tongue. “We didn’t eat crap like cotton candy, or candy corn, or anything else that wasn’t homemade.”

 

“Then these cravings for chemically enhanced candies must really be a hardship for you,” Stiles said with a laugh.

 

“You have no idea.”

 

For a moment, Derek gazed at the cotton candy, remembering how his mother had used to bake spiced apple pies on a warm autumn’s afternoon, or low-fat cupcakes with homemade strawberry jam in the summer for him. He tried not to think about his mother too often because it always made him feel miserable and guilty. What would his mother have said if she had lived to see him get involved with Stiles, and then become pregnant with his child? Would she have been happy or disappointed in him? Those were questions that Derek would probably never know the answers to.

 

“Watch your step,” Stiles warned when Derek nearly missed one due to the colorful fluff blocking his line of sight.

 

“Thanks,” Derek said when Stiles caught him before he could stumble. Most people would probably have been content to have a knight in shining armor, but Derek had been fortunate enough to score a fiery red tenko who was never done looking out for him.

 

“Okay, we’re almost at the gym. Hurry up and finish your snacking so that we can get into position.”

 

“You want some?” Derek offered Stiles a great big chunk of what looked like a pink cloud, and grinned when his mate licked it off his fingers.

 

“Yum! It’s just as delicious as I remember it,” Stiles quipped before reaching for the heavy double doors that led into the gym.


End file.
